Harry Potter and the Resurgence of the Light
by prongsridesagain13
Summary: Harry Potter, 40 years after the defeat of Voldemort, abandons the decimated remains of Europe and journeys into the past, hoping to instill his younger self with his powers and memories. Powerful!Harry. Deviates from Cannon after Shell Cottage, Book 7.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

Though I always find this redundant, I don't own the characters or anything else you recognize by J.K. Rowling. She owns the sand, I'm just making a few castles.

Brief Summary: Harry Potter, two years after his defeat of Voldemort and over thirty since the Dark Lord's return in the Triwizard Tournament, abandons the decimated remains of Europe and travels backward into his own past, hoping desperately to right what went wrong. Harry is unmistakably powerful, but no matter what time he resides in, neither of them can live while the other survives. Enjoy, and please review!

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

The gentle pattering of the rain against the windows paired with the periodic clap of thunder seemed an all too appropriate underscoring for the greying wizard that sat entranced, alone, pouring over the vast tome on his desk. The flickering candlelight illuminated dancing shadows around the room, formed by the mostly overturned and unused furniture strewn throughout the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office. Towering columns of books already completed were hastily juxtaposed near the abandoned phoenix perch while those yet to be read waited patiently on their shelves. His eyes were growing tired; he would need sleep soon.

But with sleep came the unbearable memories of the past forty years. The visions of mangled bodies, glassy-eyed corpses, and fallen friends were all-consuming at times, and no more suffocating than when he slept. Despite years of honing his Occlumency abilities, the savior of the wizarding world felt unable to protect himself from his own mind, a very difficult lesson that he wished he'd been able to digest earlier. His mind was not something to be trusted, it was something to be feared.

He closed his eyes, leaning back gently in the oaken chair and pinching the bridge of his nose, an old habit from wearing glasses for so long that he still found himself performing despite having corrected the problem some twenty years ago. Yes, his mind was a dangerous thing, and never more so than when it casually brought an idea so completely brilliant into his head that he had no choice but to invest himself in it. He knew the risks were monumental; he could lose his life in the process or be left in a state of complete insanity. But even this seemed little to pay after he had considered everything: he'd contemplated taking his life on many occasions, and whatever insanity entailed, it couldn't be so much worse than spending every waking moment staring at complicated, jargon-filled textbooks and research reports.

But even his best conceived plans had amounted to nothing as of yet. There were some promising leads; he'd been convinced for a few weeks that he could find a way to magically enhance a time turner and work around the details once he made it back, but aside from eventually admitting that magic of that degree, even for him, was impossible, he further realized that the plan had been doomed from the start. Two of him running around would do little good.

To transmit memories through time was very tricky indeed. He'd briefly considered loading his memories into a pensieve and sending it back to Dumbledore, but the man, while proving an adept leader, had been secretive and manipulative while alive. Not even he could be trusted with compete knowledge of the future. As if consenting, fate showed him a book in the next few days that proved time travel of anything with the mass and magical energy of a pensieve was absolutely impossible.

There was a brief glint of hope a month ago... maybe two, there was no reason to count. The only remaining item that even knew of his existence was a small enchanted date-keeper that recorded his actions. If he died trying and anyone should come upon it, at least they'd know what he'd died for, that once again, he'd risked his life to do what was right and payed dearly for it.

He thought he'd finally found it when he came across and old paper penned by Remus. It stung to see his name, to know that almost half a century ago the man who'd been like an uncle to him was researching magical and scientific means to establishing a Grand Unified Theory and, by extension, the possibility of traveling through time. His throat tightened to realize that Remus had felt the same pangs of guilt about Lily's and James' deaths as he had about Ron's, Hermione's, and Ginny's. It was only after hours of painstaking reading to understand the technical concepts, not to mention several consultations to a library-sized assortment of Muggle textbooks, that he arrived at a brick wall: the paper had no ending.

He searched for what felt like hours through every book and drawer for the final pages but found nothing. It took some inferring to arrive at why Remus would have stopped, or at least kept the ending to himself. Remus was incredibly intelligent, much more so than himself at any rate. In all likelihood, he showed the paper to Dumbledore to illustrate his plan without disclosing the actual formula or spell work, and Dumbledore must have metaphorically talked him down off the ledge. If he could have gone back to save them from that night, the first war never would have ended. Dumbledore needed only point out that saving James', Lily's, and Harry's life that first time would only prevent the inevitable, and the second time Tom Riddle came around, Harry might not survive. Of course, as far as he knew, Remus may have been unable to finish the paper himself and turned to Dumbledore for assistance. He could never know.

He awoke with a start as the wooden chair squeaked slightly under his weight. Realizing he'd dozed off at his desk for what must have been the hundredth time, the wizard decided to retire, wearily laying his scarred left hand on the wall to the left of his desk to reveal a comfortable albeit slightly small living quarters for the Headmaster. Removing his heavier cloak, the man lowered himself into bed, knowing that nightmares of Remus' gruesome and sudden death would strangle him like a snake tonight.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

_ No wonder this book was under such a strong concealment charm_he thought, his eyes hungrily consuming the Runes that predated any he'd ever come into contact with. Their properties when combined with certain incantations and wand movements were astounding, and wedged between the five hundred and third and fourth page, he found a letter on an ancient looking parchment with a distinctively crimson trim.

_ Future Headmaster,  
_

_ It is the sincere hope of those gathered here that the Runes and rituals contained in this book should never find use in your time. Magic of this nature is better left to the realm of dreams and desire. However, if the state of the world has declined beyond repair, we simply wish you good luck. Be ever cognizant of the incredible power you wield, and use it with cunning, reason, loyalty, and bravery._

_Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Salazar Slytherin, and Ramona Ravenclaw_

The man, slack jawed and eyes wide in amazement, let the parchment hang limply in his hand. Not only had he found his answers, they had been hand delivered to him by his school's founders. It was a last resort, the power and implications of which were as unknown to him as everything else he'd researched, but his patience was rapidly waning. This was his best opportunity by far.

Seasons changed over the two months the wizard spent digesting the untitled masterpiece of magical knowledge and plowing through highly complex arithmancy formulae. He wondered often if Dumbledore had found the book in his time, had read and understood just how terribly dangerous knowledge like this could be to all but the most ungarnished souls. As the graying wizard gazed onto the charred wasteland that surrounded the remains of Hogwarts, the ramparts demolished, the Forbidden Forrest now a great plain, flashes of the war came to him like bolts of lightning. If all went as it should, he would be leaving this hell on Earth far behind.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

"_Open_," he spoke in the language of the serpents as the demolished sink gave way to a large pipe. Hovering down through the pungent slime, he arrived at the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets.

The ancient Baselisk was only a skeleton now, but the stench of a rotting carcass still enshrouded the room. A dim light cast by the torches lining the walls was the only aid to Harry's visibility. He rectified that with a wandless intensifying charm, the flames nearly tripling in size and bathing the Chamber of Secrets in light.

With a horizontal slice of his wand, the ruins of the middle chamber exploded into myriad particles of dust, carried off quickly by the gusting winds of Harry's magic. Having flat ground in front of him, he set to inscribing the newly transfigured surface with the Runes from the Founder's book, the patterns complicated even for a wizard of his skill and knowledge.

"Finished," he said under his breath after nearly three hours of constant spellwork, wiping his brow with the dust-covered sleeve of the blue cloak he wore. He took his place at the center of the intricate configuration of enchanted rocks, runes, and geometrical designs and removed the red potion from his cloak pocket, swirling by its own accord within the small beaker. It would test his soul, the book had said, approving him for the journey he would be making, as well as saturating the purified soul with enough magical energy to survive the trek. Taking a generous gulp of the surprisingly cool molten liquid, his body began to shake, sending him to his knees. The quaking of his limbs seemed tame compared to the maelstrom his mind was weathering, as images of his life, both moments of greatest elation and abject grief enclosed his senses.

_ A boy was sitting in an undersized cupboard under the steps, afraid to leave its sanctuary and nursing a large bruise on his right leg. He was shivering, the tattered blanket around him his only source of warmth. He was eleven; he was told he was a wizard. He was on a beautiful and massive locomotive, meeting a young boy with orange hair and a bushy-haired young girl. He saw his family for the first time, reflected in a mirror. Sirius had just asked him to live with him, and just as quickly, he was flying off into the night on a large Hippogriff. Voldemort returned, the cold, snake-like eyes boring into him like an icicle. Sirius was slipping through the veil. His fellow students looked at him like he was a monster. He kissed Ginny; he felt weightless. A blonde-haired boy was bleeding profusely in a puddle of water. Dumbledore was falling from the tower. Hogwarts fell. The Ministry building was burning to the ground. Hogwarts taken back, but the price was so high... it haunted him. The light green curse hit Ginny as she fell. He killed many that night, over fifty Death Eaters fell by his hand. Six __months of training, still Voldemort lived. Hermoine's blank stare into nothingness, Ron's sacrifice. Their final confrontation, Voldemort's body burning in the fiendfyre._

The runes around him glowed, first a sickly shade of green and gradually, as he regained some sense of control, they had turned white.

Finding himself alive, he rubbed his forehead as he brought himself back up to a standing position in in the center of the circle, unwanted tears leaking from his hardened eyes. Although the potion had miraculously found him worthy, doubts wracked his mind as he readied himself for the final step of the ritual. Harry James Potter, taking one final look at the world he saved too late, put the tip of his wand to his temple.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

oooo0ooooOoooo0oooo


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter's eyes were tightly clenched, looking away in fear from the gigantic thump that signaled the Basilisk's body had connected with the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle's maniacal laugh echoed loudly against the concrete walls of the cavernous space, filling one of Harry's remaining senses with a constant reminder of his coming death.

He began running furiously in the opposite direction, hearing the frightening slithers of the king of serpents pursuing him, hunting him down like a rabbit lost in the woods. He felt his legs slip and lost his balance, falling forward and sending his glasses sliding across the uneven floor and out of his now blurry field of vision. His arm was scraped and bleeding, but that wouldn't matter soon.

"_Kill him_," whispered the illusion-Voldemort, sending shivers down Harry's spine. He was going to die, and nothing was going to stop it.

Face it.

His demise was certain, but there was a chance he could at least save Ginny, hopefully delaying Voldemort's resurrection and buying his friends more time of peace. A surge of energy shot through him, prompting him to his feet. Face it, a voice said, though this voice did not belong to Tom Riddle, nor anyone else in the Chamber at the time. It took hold of him, lifting him up, filling him with courage and pride and defiance and some crazy desire to die. Face it!

Harry turned his body quickly and roared "Incendio!" with every remaining bit of magical energy his body was holding. The large flame spell singed the Baselisk's face, but the creature as a whole remained mostly undamaged. Harry looked into two small, yellow orbs and his world went black.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Complete silence. Peace. He was someplace, he had to be, because he was aware of something around him. He opened his eyes. No glasses. Perfect vision.

Everything was the same pristine shade of white, making even Harry's now improved vision almost unable to distinguish whether the room had any objects or not. He felt for his hands, bending his fingers carefully in a strange caution, not wanting to break them. His legs were there too. In fact, as Harry slowly began moving his limbs, he noticed his entire body was completely unharmed.

He looked around at the seemingly limitless space he'd woken up in and glanced down at himself to notice he had no clothes on. Yet strangely, he felt no embarrassment. In fact, he wasn't feeling much of anything.

He wanted clothes, and as if knowing, the space provided him with a small armoire. Upon opening it, Harry discovered fresh robes and underclothes, which he donned still reluctantly.

The more he examined his surroundings, the more he felt he could recognize the space he found himself in. "Looks like King's Cross," he said under his breath, noting the idiosyncratic glasswork and the beautifully intricate masonry of the archways.

Appearing out of nothingness to his left, Harry noticed a set of train tracks that he could have sworn weren't present when he had his first look around. When had that been? He couldn't tell.

The roar of a steam engine jarred Harry sharply from his musings. A plain passenger train was approaching, its single headlight focusing into an ever shrinking circle on the opposite wall as it drew nearer.

Then with a final hiss, the train stopped, the doors opening of their own accord. A man in a black cloak emerged, holding a hand up in farewell to a passenger Harry couldn't see. "Thanks, Professor," he said, with a smile that didn't seem in any way happy.

The man turned and saw Harry staring blankly. Wow, he thought to himself, I don't look terrible without the glasses at this age after all.

The stranger conjured and sat himself in a plush, red sofa chair with an identical vacant one directly across from him and drew the hood from his head. His hair was untidy, and the hanging bangs of gray concealed the lightning scar on his forehead. His chin had some untended stubble, and aside from a few visible clean patches elsewhere on his body, the person simply looked dirty.

"Hello, Harry," the man said, his voice reverberating around the limitless space surrounding them. It was familiar to him, and he frantically searched his memories for the source. "Please sit if you feel so inclined." Harry was, but moved warily to the empty seat waiting for him, the luscious shade of red starkly contrasting the white surroundings. Upon sitting, he was able to observe the mysterious apparition with more scrutiny, noticing the faint scars that ran down the left side of his face and the emerald eyes that looked so much like his own.

"Where am I?" the boy asked, his echo reverberating eerily around the plain space.

A ghost of a smile came across the man's face. "I don't know, but if my memory serves correctly, it's probably King's Cross station, right?"

What did he mean he didn't know? If he knew King's Cross at all, he should clearly have been able to identify it. If he couldn't see the surroundings, how did he guess? He had just arrived on a train, for Merlin's sake! Harry furrowed his brow in thought, but this man made no sense at all. He wanted to believe he was dreaming, yet every instinct in his body told him this was no illusion: his physical senses were active, but his perception of time seemed nonexistent. Running his hands over the smooth armrest of the sofa, he felt his skin interact with the sleek material. His dreams, even when he felt himself momentarily slip into Voldemort's scattered thoughts, were never this vivid. "Who are you?"

"A fair question, but the answer is exceedingly complicated," the man replied, the gruff voice laden with exhaustion. "Who I am, rather who I will become, is entirely dependent on you." His tone was calm, only confusing and irritating Harry further.

"I'm not sure I understand..." said Harry in response the cryptic answer he was given to what should have been a straightforward question.

"I'm sure you don't." He took a heavy breath. "In the simplest sense, I am you, you from over forty years ahead of today to be more precise," the man said as he brushed up the hanging hair over the right side of his face, revealing the lightning scar that adorned his forehead. "I know that may be difficult to believe, but please try to hear me out." The boy sitting in front of him was approaching complete shock, the blood gone from his face and his youthful eyes ready to tear apart.

"You already know that Voldemort is still alive and trying to resurrect himself, you encountered him last year attached to your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and this year in Tom Riddle's childhood diary. In my future, he successfully reclaims a body and begins a second wizarding war, a conflict that kills millions of wizards and Muggles alike. I defeated him three years ago, but to be quite truthful... there wasn't much left to save by the time the dust settled."

"Dumbledore couldn't beat him?" Harry asked, surprised his Headmaster had proved himself unable to defeat the dark wizard that many rumored feared him.

The older Harry shook his head. "Albus was killed during my sixth year at Hogwarts, fell from the astronomy tower." The younger Harry was horrified. The prospect of having to lead a war at seventeen had frightened him enough, but at twelve, the thought was bone-chilling.

There was silence for some time. "Did... did anyone survive?" the young wizard asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The older Harry's eyes glassed over. "Yes, there were still some reported camps and sanctuaries that existed around England by the time I finally killed him, but no one we...I knew, survived. After our final duel, I devoted a few years to researching magical and scientific means of time travel and eventually discovered one left by the Hogwarts Founders. With it, I was able to send my soul, my mind, memories, and magical power back in time to you. I'm unsure how the process will work entirely and what side effects it may have, that is, if you even choose to accept it. The responsibility of this burden is exceedingly high, I must say I'll understand should you not want... this," he said the last word with a gesture to himself that looked as if he were acknowledging a pile of dragon dung.

Harry leaned forward and looked his older self in the eyes for the first time. "I have a choice?" he asked, a bit surprised that his own opinion was even being considered.

"Always, Harry. You always have a choice, even when the world disguises it as destiny. If you don't want this responsibility, I can get back on that train."

"Where would it take you?" Harry asked, strangely wary of the answer.

The man's eyes, for the first time the younger Harry could see, had fear behind them. "I-I... I don't know. On, I assume." There was silence between them until the younger spoke again.

"But I couldn't do enough... I was wrong," the teenage Harry said reproaching himself.

"Yes, Harry, but it's entirely my burden now. Who's to say you would have made the same choices, even if I hadn't returned? Whatever the outcome, the fact is you still have a future to shape, a life to live. _I'm_ the one that fouled up mine. With my memories and skill, perhaps you can do better."

He _had_ to do better.

A thought manifested itself in the younger Harry's head. "I've been dreaming about all these unfamiliar memories all week, but you're only speaking to me today. Why?"

"I can only guess, Harry, but I would say they were ripples in time, somewhat like the ripples of a pond when a stone is thrown in. In this case, the pond is time, and my soul was propelled through the membrane like a rock, causing vibrations, disturbances in the fabric of time that manifested themselves in the overlapping of our memories."

The younger's head was resting in his open palm, the sweat dripping over his fingers. The dreams he'd had over the past week were nightmarish. Images of gruesome deaths and bloodied and injured friends were of no short supply during the night, but Harry had chalked it up to how many of his fellow students had been petrified.

"As to why I chose this particular day, it was the easiest to manipulate to result in your death. I do hope you'll forgive me for that," he said, a smile coming across his face. "Our... well our essences needed to exist on the same plane, and death is a readily accessible one. The timing worked well, and the Baselisk's stare is one of the most painless ways to die."

Harry's face had gone sickeningly pale. "I-I'm... I'm dead?" he stammered, the fear evident in his wavering voice. He stood up quickly and began backing up, stealing glances at his surroundings while never taking his eyes off the apparition that had, by admission, killed him. Any semblance of cohesive thought had been disrupted by that simple fact: Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had died.

_I want my wand_, Harry thought hard as the space once again responded to his desire, placing the familiar holly wand into his right hand as if it had been there all along. He took aim at the... smiling ghost. He was smiling! This thing that had somehow manipulated Harry's fate to result in his death was happy! His rage was blazing as he directed his wand at the apparition, sending a moderately powerful cutting curse.

The ghost swatted the spell away as if it were nothing more than a fly, but he used no wand. Harry sneered and sent another volley, hexes and curses that all fell to the ghost's intolerably firm defense. Harry's anger was rising exponentially with each deflection which coupled with the nonchalance of his target, was driving him to the breaking point. He'd never see Ron or Hermoine again, the two people that had made his life worth fighting for over the past two years.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" he yelled before he could stop himself, sending a green flash of light towards the man. The adult Harry's eyes widened as he wandlessly conjured a shield to deflect the spell. The shield exploded, showing them both in a storm of pebbles and debris. When the younger looked up again, the thing was gone.

"You're only dead for now, Harry, you can go back any time," the apparition said from a safe distance behind him, slightly intrigued at not only his younger version's knowledge of the killing curse, but also his execution of it. Their memories and skills were already moulding together, it seemed.

The boy was still seething, but he realized whatever this thing was, there was nothing he could do magically to stop him. "I'm sorry I didn't explain that better," the man continued. "It was insensitive of me to throw that at you so lazily, especially with all we've dealt with. I spent years planning this, and you're hearing the whole thing at once," the older version of him said, the pity in his eyes evident even from their considerable distance apart. It was only in this exchange Harry had taken notice of his mannerisms, how remarkably similar they were to his own.

"You survived in the original timeline or I wouldn't even be here. I called in a favor from an old friend so that we could meet. Thanks to the ritual I performed in my time, we'll be able to return instantaneously."

"If what you're saying is true, then why are you even bothering to take me along?" Harry said, self-hatred in every word he yelled. "I'm weak, I'm pathetic!"

The older's head hung low, "No, you're not, Harry. You possess so much power in you it's staggering," he said, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. "And it took you so long to realize it that it hurts, kills you to think about it." Raising his head, the man seemed to collect himself. "And anyway, it's your body. If anyone's 'along' here, it's _me_."

So he was the one in control? His future self was going to latch onto him, or something like that, but he could go back, alive, and know what was coming. Bubbles of hope started popping in his stomach, though he tried not to let himself get carried away.

"Would you mind if we sat, Harry? I was already weary from the journey, and I didn't plan on having to use so much magic." The younger Harry felt guilty, again noting the series of scars adorning the man's face and nodded.

When both wizards had retaken their places in the unharmed sofa chairs, Harry wasted no time. "So what exactly will happen to me?"

"I really should have started with that, eh?" the older asked dryly. "Sure, defeat a Baselisk, outfly a Horntail, but Merlin forbid I ever learn how to carry a conversation without making someone want to kill me," the younger couldn't help but chuckle, remembering how furious Hermoine could get when Ron said something insensitive. His demeanor returned, and he urged this older self to answer his question with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Right. My theory behind this is exceedingly complex, but from what I understand, our souls will amalgamate in some way..." he paused at the perplexed look on the his younger self's face,"...er, sorry, forgot how few books I read back then...back now. Well, what was I saying? Right, fuse is a better word. You will have all my memories and knowledge, as well as likely see a large increase in your magical energy, but I should hope you will remain mostly you. My personality has hardened quite a bit over the years. Try not to let me make you feel too cynical."

The younger Harry let out a small monosyllabic response, but his eyes remained fixed on the stone floor in front of him. "And it'll just happen like that? We'll be okay?"

The older hesitated. "I'm not sure to be completely honest. We're not talking about fusing two different souls and minds, which, terrible as it sounds, has been experimented with and done before (with vile and disastrous results, mind you). In this instance, we're talking about the exact same soul at different points on its own timeline, inhabiting one body willingly... that is if you're willing in the first place. It may take time for us to truly become one being, or it may happen instantly. It's research that I'm almost certain has never even been hypothesized before, much less attempted, except by the school's founders. Who knows if one of them ever had to use it."

"So you really think we can change the future?"

The man steepled his hands and rested his chin on them. "I don't know. It's far more complicated than we can ever imagine. The tiniest decisions, impulses, and actions we make have such far-reaching implications that we humans could never hope to comprehend it. What is fixed? What can move? What is always and must always be moving? Time oscillates with such swiftness and unpredictability that is probably looks more like an ocean under a violent thunderstorm than a rippling pond.

"But for me," the older Harry continued, "even the slight chance to improve things was worth the effort of ending my life in that timeline. Hogwarts, London, Little Whinging, Ottery St. Catchpole, Godric's Hollow , they're all just ruins now. He took everything from us," he said, the younger Harry noting the strained manner in which the last sentence was spoken, like the emotionless words were preventing an avalanche of malice and spite.

"What happened? How bad did we lose?"

The man's smile was alien, some unnatural blend of abject sadness and hatred with a sliver of hope and irony. "Funny enough, many in the wizarding world abroad viewed this as a victory. A net gain, praising me for containing him," he said, his voice getting louder and more irritated. "But make no mistake, Harry, we lost, badly. The Ministry fell while I... you... shall I say 'we' from now on?" The younger nodded his head, not able to think of a more appropriate pronoun for whatever their collective identities should be referred to as.

"Right, while we were attending the wedding of Ron's oldest brother, Bill. Voldemort had enough political influence to get whatever he wanted or needed and installed a new minister under his control. After that we, Ron, and Hermoine took off looking for the objects that were allowing Voldemort to remain alive even when his body was destroyed. We...we lost Hogwarts, and within a few years Voldemort had free-reign over England. I dueled him many times, and each time I would either barely escape or manage a draw. I trained myself everyday, honing my magical abilities. There were many battles fought, many strategies executed, but he just kept winning. People kept dying, battle after battle. He would outthink me, outduel me, until one day, almost exactly forty years after the start of the war, I caught him off-guard. He'd gotten complacent and slipped up, and the small mistake was enough to cost him his life. To be honest... I think he was bored."

Silence cut through the room, leaving both Harrys frightened for the other's future.

"This isn't a test?"

He saw his older version's mouth twitch slightly. "Yeah, it is. The whole damn thing has been a test. And I want to give you the answers early." The boy was observing him now, scrutinizing him and evaluating his honesty. Taking a huge breath, the younger finally spoke.

"Shall we do this then?" he said, reluctance in his voice. Harry looked with pity at his younger self, remembering how truly frightened and lonely he was at that age. This was yet another burden to bear, and the poor boy already felt a weight on his shoulders that Atlas would not envy.

"Yes... Thank you, Harry. And good luck. Stick to your instincts and act rationally whenever possible. Always choose control." The older one extended his hand, their emerald eyes locking as the younger did likewise. A bright light overtook the room and Harry awoke with a jarring suddenness.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

The floor of the Chamber of Secrets was cold. For a moment, Harry wasn't sure where he was, but the angry hissings of a burned Baselisk roused him quickly from the torpor.

What a way to come back.

Harry reached out for his glasses and summoned them expertly to his hand with a wordless summoning charm. Wow, he thought, he... I wasn't kidding about that increase in energy. An equally quick _Occulo Reparo_ spell and he was able to see. The cinders had caught the creature in its vulnerable nostrils and eyes, affecting its senses, but not blinding It. No sign of Fawkes yet, the old man had done his job well.

"_Conjunctivo!_" Harry yelled, aiming blindly at the already angry snake's deadly eyes while clumsily running backwards, attempting to get used to his younger body. He noticed how much higher pitched and clearer his voice sounded at this age. The serpent's eyes swelled and pussed as one of his curses made contact, protecting Harry from its deadly glare and robbing the Baselisk of its sight. The snake began to thrash even more so, sending debris raining down from the ceiling. Harry saw a particularly large chunk falling over Ginny and his heart stopped, his reaction time surprising even himself.

His right arm was quivering as it maintained a wandless hold over the marble hovering mere feet above her, while his left held off the snake with powerful bombardment and cutting curses.

Sending the boulders safely away from Ginny, Harry turned his attention once more to the enraged Baselisk. This had to end quickly. The surroundings were proving hazardous to Ginny, and he would take no chances with her. Turning his fury onto the serpent, Harry bombarded the creature with an assortment of curses, charms, and hexes that each provided their own varying effectiveness. He took no notice of the look of shock on Tom Riddle's face.

The creature was wearing down, but Harry was severely missing the sword for the final blow. Out of nowhere, he heard the dulcet tones of a phoenix he knew quite well. The song of the phoenix was invigorating in the midst of the conflict, like a crisp bugle call, but Harry could not afford to wait for Fawkes to reach him. "_Accio_ Sorting Hat!" he thought, needing to ensure the Baselisk remained oblivious to his location.

"_He's only a boy!_" the transparent Riddle yelled in Parseltongue. "_Finish him, now!_"

As Tom furiously hissed and the snake began to snap its jaws dangerously close to Harry, the crumpled, disheveled hat came soaring through the entrance of the Chamber into his hands. "Finally. Let's hope I'm still a Gryffindor," Harry said as the hat landed flimsily in his hands. Reaching his arm in, he felt the familiar ruby shaft of Gryffindor's sword and removed it with a brilliant flash. Dropping the hat to the ground beside him and pocketing his wand, Harry held the sword with both hands, the familiar static cracklings of his magic beginning to sound.

The gleaming silver blade began to glow red, Harry's energy flowing through the magically enhanced sword. Taking a three step running start and leaving a cracked piece of marble beneath him from the force of his kickoff, Harry leapt into the air. With a slice of surgical precision Harry decapitated the gigantic snake. Its head landed with a slurpy thud on the floor of the Chamber.

The Horcrux Tom was livid, and he quickly turned his eyes to Ginny.

"Stop right there," Harry said cooly, his voice resembling Tom's more than his own. "_Accio_ Diary," he commanded, sending the Horcrux flying easily into his hand. Dropping the sword of Gryffindor, Harry ripped a tooth from the Baselisk's head, glaring threateningly and yet undoubtedly gleefully at the now frozen Tom Riddle.

"_I'm coming for you, Tom_," he threatened in the tongue of snakes, plunging the venom-soaked tooth into the diary and watching Tom's body dissolve, once again, into nothingness. Dropping both items, he ran to Ginny and slid easily to her side, checking her neck for a pulse and noticing the delicate rise and fall of her chest.

_Alive. My Ginny is alive again._ The emotions hit him like a tidal wave, and cradling her in his arms, he saw her eyes flutter open. The opalescent brown spheres were as beautiful as he'd dreamed about every night since she'd died. And though it wasn't much to feel proud of, instead of waking up on the rigid Chamber floor, this time she was in his arms.

"Harry... Oh, Harry... I'm so sorry... it was me... I tried to tell you at b-b-breakfast.."

"Shhh," Harry said comfortingly. "I know, Gin, it's okay. Everything is okay. Rest now," he finished, laying his hand on her forehead as a gentle blue glow enveloped her, eyes closing peacefully. The fewer conscious memories she had of this place, the better.

Harry carried her out of the Chamber where he found Ron and Lockhart waiting. The last time Harry had seen his best friend, he was rushing into the field of battle, disappearing in a violent explosion that wiped the island of Azkaban from the Earth. By some incredible miracle, here he was, lifting boulders to give them a way out.

"Oh my, she doesn't look well at all," the now permanently obliviated Professor wistfully observed.

Ron whipped around and ran to her side, looking protectively down at his younger sister. "Is she okay? What happened? And where in bloody hell did you find a sword?"

Harry stared at his best friend that had proved himself a master strategist in their future. How had they been this naive? He knew this could happen, that the friends he'd known in the future had changed drastically from the sometimes unbearably ignorant students they'd been, but his disappointment was palpable nonetheless.

"After we get her to the hospital wing. I'll explain once we're there," Harry said tersely, handing her over to Ron and taking aim at the pile of rocks blocking their exit courtesy of their woefully incompetent defense teacher. "_Reducto_."

The boulders exploded in a shower of pebbles, and Ron's eyes threatened to jump out of their sockets entirely.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Where did that come from?" Ron asked incredulously, almost forgetting about the sister in his arms. Harry raised his eyebrows, hoping Ron would realize their priority should be getting Ginny medical attention, not ogling over his newfound magical proficiency. Ron seemed to get the point as he shifted his attention back to Ginny.

"So how do we get out of here?" Ron asked, brushing a stray strand of red hair out of her mouth in a rare moment of brotherly protectiveness. That certainly hadn't happened the last time around, but then again, Harry was more preoccupied, less observant of his surroundings. The Weasleys were a fiercely loyal clan, especially towards their own.

"I think we have a friend to help us with that," Harry grinned, reaching a hand to stroke Fawkes' regal plumage. "Grab on," Harry said as Fawkes extended his leg to Ron. "I'll hold onto you and levitate Ginny behind us," he finished to Ron's surprise.

"Harry, I know you're pretty good at levitation charms, but this is my sister."

_And my wife_, Harry wished he could retort. "Trust me, Ron," he said instead. His friend held his gaze for a moment, finally relenting in a show of confidence in his best mate. "Professor Lockhart?" Harry asked as he turned his attention to the man who was, at the moment, staring incredulously at the fiery bird on Harry's shoulder.

"He means you," said Ron, cuffing Lockhart on the arm.

The Professor jumped. "Oh, that's my name, is it? Bit strange."

"Sir, you need to hold onto me as tightly as you can; we're going to get out of here," Harry said, awkwardly holding out his leg to the befuddled professor. Lockhart, at Ron's persistence, latched onto Harry's outstretched limb as Fawkes took flight. The Phoenix beat its wings forcefully, never losing its grace as the four wizards were lifted out of the Chamber.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Minerva McGonagal was sitting at her desk, her lips etched in a sympathetic frown. The two parents seated across from her, Arthur and Molly Weasley, were old friends from the previous war. She'd taught all of their children Transfiguration. Seeing them in this state forcefully reminded her of the horrors the first war had wrought on so many.

"Albus, not even you know where this place is?" Arthur questioned, as Molly was in no condition to speak.

"Unfortunately, I do not," the wizened wizard said, although the look of worry was not as present on his face as the others. "Hogwarts holds many secrets that not even the Headmasters are privy to." A knock at the door interrupted their tense conversation.

In a slightly awkward moment, Albus forgot he was not in his office and announced, "Enter," at the same time as Professor McGonagal. They smiled briefly at one another before Dumbledore bowed his head in apology. He raised it to look at what he knew to be one of the most incredible things he'd ever seen.

Harry Potter was standing in the door frame, the diary and the Sorting Hat clutched in one hand, the blood-stained sword of Gryffindor slung nonchalantly over his left shoulder and Fawkes sitting obediently on his right. The confidence and control that Harry's presence radiated was foreign to all but one of them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wealsey," he addressed the grieving parents, "Ginny is okay, she's with Ron in the hospital wing." There was stunned silence in the office, eventually broken by Fawkes who flew over carefully to Albus' shoulder and resumed his familiar place.

"S-She's okay?" Molly wailed as her tears lost all control of themselves. "Oh, Harry! Was it you?" he nodded humbly. "How can we ever th-thank you!" she cried as she rushed to Harry, her arms outstretched.

Harry held up his hands to placate her, but he was too late. Though the woman had been overbearing and overprotective at times, she really had been like a mother to him and remained one of the only people that had ever hugged him like this. He missed it.

Mr. Weasley offered Harry a less painful and less constricting pat on the shoulder, though he knew with the Weasleys there would certainly be more thanks to come. _The Weasleys_, he thought happily. It had been too many years since he'd had to refer to them as a family.

"No thanks necessary, Mrs. Weasley... really," Harry said as he began to lose his breath a bit. "Ginny's asleep now, though, and I'm sure she'd be really relieved to see the both of you after all she's been though." Gently prying her away from Harry, Arthur gave a quick look to Albus who nodded his head, excusing them both from the office.

Harry now looked back to Professor McGonagal and Dumbledore, the former of which was still visibly shocked from Harry's entrance. She finally found her voice. "Mr. Potter, how exactly..."

"Minerva," Dumbledore cut her off in the most polite manner, "I have my suspicions that what happened in the chamber should be kept between Mr. Potter and myself. The subject, I believe, is very delicate."

She understood his meaning and begrudgingly, yet as always professionally, nodded her head. "Of course, Albus. Feel free to use my office. I'll notify the students."

Albus nodded happily. At an expectantly raised eyebrow from Harry, he added, "Perhaps we should notify the house-elves as well. I believe a feast is in order."

Minerva smiled curtly. "Yes, I suppose it is," she said as she cast an appraising glance at Harry. "I'll let them know. Half past seven?" Dumbledore nodded once again as he sat in the rigid wooden chair behind McGonagal's desk and offered Harry one of the more comfortable ones across.

As soon as McGonagal closed the door, Harry and Dumbledore smiled widely to one another. "Now Mr. Potter, I seem to recall telling you that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules."

"Let's hope I don't make you eat your words too many times, Albus," Harry smiled rising and encircling his Headmaster in a warm embrace. "Thank you so much for this, old friend. You took a big risk."

Dumledore's face grew serious. "After my many errors, Harry, this is the tip of the iceberg of how much atonement I feel I require. Do you have a plan?"

Harry nodded. "Bits and pieces. I don't know how long my knowledge of the future will hold up against causality, but I'm hoping I can stay... relatively low, at least until Voldemort is resurrected. I plan to have all his Horcruxes gone, Sirius' name cleared, and Fudge so far up a creek he'll never sit for office again by the time the Triwizard happens."

Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle. "Do you think that's wise, Harry? Though Cornelius' mishandling of the situation certainly lead to the war, he is an easily corruptible man."

Harry considered for a moment. "Albus, you sly dog. Do you have something specific in mind?"

Dumbledore smiled, the infamous twinkle in his eyes all the more present given the situation. He handed Harry a piece of parchment. "This is bloody brilliant, Albus."

"I'm glad you agree. Will you be forming the D.A. again?"

"I may call it something else, but that's the plan. You might even live a bit longer this time."

The old man's head bowed low. "Now, Harry, you of all people should know a life isn't measured in years."

"Of course not, sir," Harry replied evenly, "but we could all use a few more of them, couldn't we?"

Dumbledore did not answer, but merely stared off into the space in front of him. "Ah, well I think it's about time I went back, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

"Yes, Albus. I look forward to our next meeting," the boy said with a smile.

"Which hopefully will not take place for quite some time," the Headmaster said with a grandfatherly smile. "I'll leave you only with this, though I'm quite sure you've grown well past the days when you relied on the wisdom of your old Headmaster. You have direct knowledge of the future, which, whether you have realized this or not, is as close to absolute power as any human could dream of. Trust someone with your secret as soon as you can and rely on them as a moral compass. You navigate treacherous waters, waters you can not traverse alone," Dumbledore finished grimly.

Harry allowed time for him to continue. "Well then, let's not delay. Goodbye for now, Harry. Good luck."

"Thank you, old friend," Harry said, putting his wand to his mentor's chest. He placed his hand on the calm but apprehensive shoulder of Dumbledore who, without ever averting his gaze, put his right hand on Harry's. "To the well organized mind, sir, to the well organized mind. I never forgot that." Dumbledore smiled, but the fear was still etched on his face. "Are you ready?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "When is one ever ready?"

Harry smiled, taking the slight nod from Dumbledore as his signal. "Goodbye for now, sir. _Avada Kedavra_."

The Headmaster's forehead hit the desk with a soft thud, having landed on a small cushion he'd laid there previously. Harry gently removed the cushion and took his place in the seat across from him. When Dumbledore regained consciousness, Harry was the first to speak.

"Headmaster? Are you alright?" he asked innocently.

Dumbledore groaned softly as he lifted his head from the desk and sat upright. At once, the Headmaster's posture straightened, his eyes lit up, and his entire demeanor changed. "Yes... apologies, Harry, I must have lost my thoughts for a moment," he spoke wistfully as if nothing had happened. "What were we discussing?"

"You were just telling me about Tom Riddle, sir," Harry lied with a twinge of sadness at the loss of his Headmaster. He quickly reinforced his Occlumency shields just in case this Dumbledore was keeping tabs, though he seemed a bit disoriented at the moment.

"Ah, yes, you met him in the Chamber of Secrets today, then? I imagine he was most interested in you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, not moving his eyes from Dumbledore's. "I can see why."

Dumbledore's intrigued glance urged Harry on. "We're similar. Both of us were orphans, both of us raised in places we desperately wanted to get out of. Not to mention the dual wand cores and the overlap in some of our... abilities."

"You're referring to your ability to speak Parseltongue," Dumbledore inferred, though Harry imagined there was very little guesswork. "Harry, what you must understand is that the only reason you can speak Parseltongue is because Tom Riddle, the true heir of Slytherin and his last living descendent, could."

Harry nodded, remembering their conversation didn't last as long the first time around. Something was supposed to happen.

With a loud bang, the door behind Harry flew open as Lucius Malfoy entered, just as despicably slimy as Harry remembered him. The greasy hair and unmoving scowl of superiority was present during the intense conversation between the Headmaster and the Death Eater. Harry remained completely silent during the exchange aside from his small part in the end, playing his lines perfectly in front of his very observant Headmaster.

When Lucius departed, Harry once again asked Dumbledore for the diary. Stuffing his sock on top he went to follow. He put a soundproofing charm on the hallway and conjured curtains over all the paintings.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry called, "you forgot this," he continued, forcing the destroyed shell of the Horcrux into Lucius' hands with a rather stinky sock on the top.

"What the -?" Lucius sneered as he ripped off the sock and threw it to the side, where Harry happily observed it land into Dobby's quivering hands.

"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too."

Harry's insides were suddenly ablaze. Every inch of his being was screaming to lash out, snuff the scumbag right out, but he couldn't. He'd do no good in Azkaban, and so he settled himself and spoke in an even calmer tone than Lucius had.

"The time will come very soon, Mr. Malfoy, when," Harry gritted his teeth, "You-Know-Who will return. I believe he will, and although we're not by any means friendly, I want to help you."

Lucius looked almost offended at the very idea. "Help me? You? You're nothing but a twelve-year old boy," he sneered.

"I won't be forever. You know more than many how terrible Voldemort can be, the lengths he's willing to go to in order to get whatever he wants, with absolutely no regard for anyone else. The moment you cease to be useful to him, he'll kill you like an irksome fly. Don't put Draco through that," Lucius' eyes widened at the mention of his son.

"I have no affiliation with the Dark Lord," Lucius said, though a part of him had acknowledged the boy was not as stupid as he appeared.

"Then you'd better stop calling him that," Harry said coldly. "You have no affiliation with him now because it is beneficial for you not to, no more. You're an opportunist at every turn. My influence is deeper than it appears, and if you ever wish to change your ways, feel remorse for the crimes you've committed, see the world from our perspective, I'll be the first one to help. Be warned, Lucius, I won't look the other way a second time."

Lucius laughed. "I'm simply quivering, Potter. Come, Dobby. I said, come." But Dobby did not move, still quaking with happiness at the smelly sock that gave him his freedom.

"Master has given a sock. Master gave it to Dobby. Dobby is _free_." Memories of the frail, brave elf's funeral came rushing into Harry's mind. _You tell him, Dobby_, he thought with a smile.

Lucius lunged at Harry again, seeing the boy's smile and understanding exactly what he had done. "You've lost me my servant boy!" Harry stood perfectly still, grinning as the expected loud bang coming from his feet shot Lucius clear across the hallway and sliding even further on the glossy marble floor. With a glare that would have rivaled a Baselisk's the man brushed himself off and descended the moving staircases. Harry happily observed that they seemed to be taking an inordinately long amount of time to reach him.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" the elf cheered, running to Harry and embracing his left leg, the jeans still torn from his battle in the chamber.

Harry knelt down to Dobby's eye level and winked. "Dobby, I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see you. I have an offer for you. Will you listen?"

Dobby bobbed his head repeatedly. "Of course Dobby will! Harry Potter is the wisest and most wonderf-..."

"I get it, Dobby," Harry said with a smile, putting up his hands to stop the elf's string of adjectives that he knew would go on forever if he let them. "I wonder if, now that you're free, you'd like to work for me. I'd pay you, but only if you want to, and once a week, you'll have the entire day off. What do you think?"

Dobby's orb-like eyes filled with tears of joy as he went hopping around the hallway. "Of course Dobby will work for Harry Potter! Harry Potter is so kind to offer Dobby wages and a... day off." Dobby spoke the last two words as if they were the foulest, most repugnant curse words he knew, taking visible pride in himself for saying them. Harry beamed at the little elf, who now instead of working in the kitchens of Hogwarts would have a home and, hopefully, his own family to care for. Maybe this was the start of a long line of Potter house-elves, Harry thought with a laugh.

"We'll discuss your pay and everything later, but you could do something for me right now if you'd like." Dobby immediately stopped bouncing and scattered quickly to Harry's front.

"Yes, master?" the elf said, likely taking a large amount of pride in his first order.

"Dobby, how well can you cook?"


	3. Chapter 3

The hospital wing of Hogwarts was the last place Ginny Weasley wanted to be... well, the second to last place. Visions of the nightmarish Chamber of Secrets had entwined themselves into her dreams. The gargantuan statue of Salazar Slytherin, the bones strewn about from the Baselisk's mealtime victims, all of them were haunting. She remembered nightmares from her youth, how her mother had always been there to give her a cool glass of water and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. She wanted to be home. Keeping the spunky redhead confined to her small room in the infirmary had been a full-time job for Madame Pomfrey, which on top of the petrified patients had pushed the nurse to her wit's end. Despite Ginny's furious protestations that she felt fine, she was unable to argue when Madame Pomfrey pointed out that after being possessed by You-Know-Who, she was fortunate to not be at St. Mungo's.

Resigning herself to the mandatory bed rest, Ginny spent the majority of her day thinking of him, how he had the unintentional tendency to frustrate and enamor her all at once.

She had overheard her parents speaking with Dumbledore and learned that Harry actually had been the one to find her. Of course, it would be him of all people. Her mortification only increased, however, when Ron told her about the gigantic Baselisk Harry had allegedly defeated to save her as well as the school. She'd fantasized about it numerous times: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, showing up in shining armor to take her away, slay dragons, and be her protector. She recalled the childhood daydreams nostalgically, but they had never ended with her feeling so guilty. In fact, Ginny Weasley was miserable.

She drew her knees up to her chin, resting her head on them and crossing her arms to hold her shins. It was her fault, she knew it. Harry had been put in danger; some of her fellow students had been petrified, nearly killed! Harry should have been furious with her like any normal person would be.

But Harry Potter was as far from normal as You-Know-Who was from wearing pink pajamas. Although she'd spent the better part of the year being possessed, the rest of her time was occupied by watching the Boy-Who-Lived. Following his impromptu appearance at the Burrow that past summer, Ginny had wanted desperately for him to notice her. Instead, she'd put her stupid elbow straight into the butter dish, arguably the most embarrassing moment of her life thus far. It solidified her classification as Ron's younger sister, nothing else, and she'd cried late into the night at how Harry surely saw her... or didn't, as the case was. Though she knew Harry, Ron, and Hermione were inseparable, a part of her wanted to join their trio so much that when it became clear that he barely knew she existed, she'd started pouring her heart out to a mysterious, talking diary. How stupid she had been.

Yet in watching Harry, she had never expected to see him so... unhappy. He wasn't all the time, but during the moments where he'd lose himself in thought, especially when he was alone, an abject sadness seemed to poison his normally sparkling emerald eyes, causing them to lose the luster that Ginny had come to love. Why in the world would Harry Potter be unhappy? He was famous, he'd defeated You-Know-Who. His life should have been fine, perfect even. But it wasn't.

For weeks Ginny wondered why, why a boy as brave and wonderful as Harry could be sad. She knew his parents were killed that night, something that made her blood run cold to even imagine, but somehow the emotions ran deeper than that. She could feel it when she looked at him. There was an incredible burden that he carried with him, and whatever it was, Ginny would have given anything to absolve him of it. She thought it may have involved his first year, when he was the one to pursue the Philosopher's Stone and save the school from Voldemort, or so Ron and the twins had told her.

All she had managed to do _this_ year, however, was increase his load, causing him undue stress and nearly killing him. If their roles were reversed, she wouldn't even be speaking to him, much less risking her life to save him.

Despite all of that, he had come anyway. He faced the possibility, and if the dimensions of the beast described by Ron were actually accurate, the probability of death. Harry had willingly put his life in jeopardy to save her, the girl that had made his year hell. He had every right to completely sever his ties to her.

But that look...

She kept coming back to it, and each time she thought about the look in Harry's eyes when she came to, realizing she hadn't been dreaming of hallucinating when she'd briefly regained consciousness within the Chamber, her skin would warm like an iron. In the hours of watching Harry and trying to desperately comprehend him, she had never seen a look like that. There was unbridled joy and relief and... hope. That's what he'd been missing in them, the simple idea that tomorrow would be better. For some reason, saving her, or maybe saving the school, had brought that out.

Ginny glanced out her window and noticed sky was turning dark, the musky orange sun stretching its last sinewy rays across the night as the deep purple and black spread itself like a blanket over the Earth. She'd overheard Ron talking excitedly about a feast. _Everyone must be down in the Great Hall having a wonderful time_, she thought enviously, then suddenly not so. She wasn't ready to be around people again. The stares she would get... she didn't think her already fragile emotional state could take it.

"Ginny?" a soft voice spoke out from behind her curtain.

She gasped in surprise, but realized who the voice belonged to and suddenly her mouth lost it's ability to function "H-H... Harry, umm... I-erm... hi." _Hi_, she thought in self-chastisement. _I'm such an idiot around him_.

"Hi. Ummm... I just... I thought you might want some company for a bit... if that's okay..." he stammered through the fabric. Was he nervous? Did he think she could still hurt him, that she was still possessed?

"Sure," she said, shuffling under the covers and raising them to her collarbone for good measure. "You can come in now," she said sheepishly, blushing as he drew back the curtain and looked at her again. His eyes were the same, shimmering with light and radiating with hope.

"So... are you hungry?" he asked, smiling timidly. Ginny shrugged just as bashfully, her stomach growling only a few moments later. "Dobby?" she thought he asked her.

"What?" Ginny responded in confusion, only to be further surprised when a small house-elf appeared at the foot of her bed.

"Yes, Master, Dobby is here to serve. Dobby has completed the task you set upon him," the minuscule elf said proudly, his head still bowed respectfully low.

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Boy, when you put it like that Dobby-..." he started, cut off by the materializing of several beautifully prepared plates of food that rivaled the finest dishes Hogwarts had ever offered them. Dobby had likewise provided a mahogany table over her bed where the decadent dishes now resided. Harry was beaming at Ginny's overwhelmed reaction.

"Wow..." she whispered, here eyes widening at the endless expanse of food as Dobby disapparated with a crack. "This is really nice, thanks, Harry... for everything," she managed to get out as her cheeks turned a Gryffindor crimson. He understood her meaning immediately.

"You're welcome," Harry replied as he smiled genially and moved to sit in the chair next to her bed.

"So was that a house-elf?" Ginny asked with wonder as she bit into a juicy piece of turkey, pointing to the spot where Dobby had disappeared from.

"You've never seen one before?" Harry asked, slightly surprised at the revelation. "His name is Dobby, he was the one that kept Ron and I from getting on the platform at King's Cross this summer, but he's a very good house-elf, and a good friend. He tried to warn me about all this, but he could only tell me bits and pieces. House-elves are bound to keep their master's secrets."

Ginny digested the information, as well as her turkey leg. "Doesn't he work for you now?"

"Long story," Harry chuckled.

"Did you set him free?"

Harry blushed instinctively. "Yeah."

"You certainly have a thing for saving people," she said with a shy smile.

_You have no idea_.

Ginny hesitated before asking him, "So then, was his old master the one behind this?"

Harry nodded. "You're not gonna like who it is."

"I want to know," she said firmly, knowing that whoever did this to her would be spitting bats out of their nose for a month.

"It was Lucius Malfoy. That day at Diagon Alley when he took your Transfiguration book, he slipped the diary back into your cauldron. Dumbledore thinks it's because of some favorable Muggle legislation your dad is proposing in the Ministry. But... well since I destroyed the diary and it would be my word against a very well-connected and wealthy political figure's, I doubt he'll see much in the way of formal punishment." Ginny was fuming, parts of the blanket now bunched up in her clenched fists.

"He's scum," Ginny spat, venom in her voice.

"He'll get what's coming to him," Harry said prophetically, though Ginny could only understand it as an angry threat. "People like him always get it in the end."

After a few moments of letting Ginny eat her fill, which noticeably quelled her anger, Harry spoke again. "I know how you must be feeling, that you're probably blaming yourself for all that happened this year," he said seriously, her eyes widening at how accurate his words were. "Just know I don't blame you at all. Voldemort..." she gasped at his name "...is a very powerful wizard, and many older and more experienced ones than you have fallen under his influence before," he said as he carefully but surely placed his hand on her arm. "The only people I blame are Lucius Malfoy and Tom Riddle."

After she'd recovered the initial shock of Harry's skin on hers, she looked up and made eye contact with him, sending shivers and goosebumps down her arm she was sure Harry could feel. Harry drew his hand back quickly, hoping to delay any romantic thoughts for quite some time. Ginny looked utterly embarrassed, even on the verge of tears, but Harry was quick to disarm her.

"Merlin, Ginny, your skin is frigid. You want another cover?" Harry said, with no outward sign of believing the goosebumps were for any reason other than that.

Ginny pounced on the opportunity, crossing her arms across her chest and rubbing her arms for good measure. "Yeah, there should be one over there," she said, pointing to a small dresser drawer. Harry pulled out the thin blanket that was cool to the touch.

"This is awful," he said sternly. "For goodness sake you'd think she'd know to do a warming charm..." he continued under his breath as he pulled his wand from it's place in his right pocket. With a small flick, Ginny had a newly transfigured and heated wool comforter on her, a delicate shade of red that matched her hair almost perfectly.

"Thanks," she said, her eyes still locked on the gorgeous conjured blanket laying on her.

Harry waved it off with a smile as he retook his seat. There was silence between the two lovers from different times, Ginny huddling for warmth beneath the blanket and Harry unexplainably missing her more than ever. His fears of losing her were bombarding his mind. What if he changed her? She wouldn't be his Ginny, the girl he fell in love with, the lover he wanted to spend his life with, the woman he fought with every ounce of his strength for. What if she was worse? Or somehow even more intimidating, what if she was better? What if she outshone his Ginny? What if he forgot about her? The thought of it gripped at his throat as the scarred memory of her death was ripped open.

Ginny looked over in concern, seeing Harry's white knuckles and beading sweat. "Are you alright, Harry?"

But she was here. Alive. She wasn't a replacement; he had to stop thinking about her that way. She was his future... at least hopefully. He didn't have to forget about his Ginny, but it would do him no good to carry any more remorse than the crippling load he already felt.

For now, he needed an answer to explain his conspicuous stress. "We all should have been paying more attention to you, to make sure you were doing okay. If you're gonna blame anyone, blame me."

"You?" she asked warily.

Harry nodded dejectedly. "That diary was meant for me, and you wound up being an unintended victim. It worked out for Lucius either way, but I have a feeling his primary target was me. Worse than that though, I was so absorbed in my own problems this year I completely shut everyone else out, even Ron and Hermione at times. I was so convinced that Draco was Slytherin's Heir that I obsessed over him and ignored what was happening right in front of me. I swear that won't happen again. We'll stick together from now on," he finished emphatically, leaving Ginny completely taken aback. He wasn't mad at her. She felt her body decompress, the muscles constricted by guilt finally relaxing. Her feelings of responsibility lingered, but they now seemed easier to bear.

She worked up the nerve to ask him, "I overheard Ron saying you fought a giant snake."

Harry nodded. "It's called as Baselisk."

"Why?"

Harry seemed confused. "What do you mean 'why'? Why it's called a Baselisk?"

"No, I mean why did you try to save me? Why didn't you save yourself and try to get out of there? You could have been killed, over me, a nobody!" Ginny was only minutely aware that she was now yelling as she slammed her arms into the covers.

Harry seemed unaffected by her sudden rise in volume, his benign smile showing no sign of abating. "Now there's that fiery temper," he chuckled as Ginny began to blush. "You're not a nobody, and you're a prat for saying that," he admonished lightly, cuffing her on the arm. "You and your entire family are... well you're the closest thing to a family I think I have. I'd die to protect any one of you. That's why I saved you."

Ginny couldn't even remember being called a prat after what Harry had just said. She was like family to him? "Harry... I don't know what to say," she said weakly.

"You don't have to say anything. I think anyone wearing crimson and gold would have done the same if they'd known where you were," Harry said rather proudly.

"Not anymore," Ginny said softly. "Everyone's gonna hate me." Her eyes were beginning to well with tears.

"I can't imagine why, seeing as you were only one of the Heir of Slytherin's victims," Harry winked.

Ginny's eyes widened. "You mean...?"

"No one in the school aside from Dumbledore, McGonagal, me, and anyone with the last name Weasley, besides Percy, know anything about the diary and that it possessed you," Harry said with a smirk. "But I'll be the one telling him, along with a few other choice words. If anything, everyone will be relieved to see you back."

Ginny could have hugged him if she weren't so embarrassed from their last attempt at physical contact. "Thanks, Harry," was all she could manage.

"Well, it was Dumbledore's call," Harry explained. "Is Madame Pomfrey keeping you here all night?"

Ginny's irate expression was all the answer Harry needed. He couldn't help but look back on the myriad injuries that had given him similar lonely nights in the infirmary.

Then he smiled as an idea came to him. "Ginny, think of your room at home, just think about it, everything you love about it, everything that makes you feel safe," he said as she returned him a look of confusion and curiosity. "Come on, close your eyes and imagine it," he continued as she did, opening them once or twice to see what he was up to but eventually keeping them shut and visualizing her sanctuary at the Burrow.

Harry used Legilimency, careful to only examine her willingly presented images of exactly what the room looked like. With his wand, he set to work transfiguring.

"Okay, open them," Harry said nervously after a minute or so. He knew he'd never forget the smile that crossed her face as she took in the surroundings that had been cold and unfamiliar only moments ago. Everything she had just pictured in her room was suddenly there, as if she had somehow apparated there herself. From the carpet's exact shade of carmine to the accurate and moving posters of The Weird Sisters and Gwenog Jones, it was perfect. He'd even enchanted the window to show the expansive orchard outside that her window overlooked at the Burrow instead of the dreary Hogwarts grounds.

"Harry... how did you..." she began to ask.

"Magic," he said simply with a wide grin. "Is it okay?"

"Okay? It's incredible," she remarked in amazement. "Thank you so much, Harry."

Harry smiled and turned to go. "Goodnight, Ginny."

"Goodnight, Harry," she said, and he was gone. Though much was on her mind, it didn't take Ginny long to give way to sleep. For the first time, and in spite of the dreamless sleep potion Madame Pomfrey had given her, Ginny dreamt not of the Boy-Who-Lived, but instead, of her new friend, Harry Potter.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Rediscovering the hallways of Hogwarts again was cathartic for Harry. His memories of the school as it currently existed had been overshadowed for so long by the nightmarish state he had found it in after liberating it from Voldemort. Blood stains no longer adorned the walls, and the stones shone a brilliant white luster in comparison to the darkened ruins of his future.

Harry found himself outside the Room of Requirement, staring at the space that had made him the wizard he was. He remembered pacing outside of it, the tears streaming down his face as his inconsolable mind focused on one simple goal. He had to be stronger. He could still hear Hermoine's frantic voice, reverberating through the air and begging him to stay.

_"Harry! Please, don't go!" Hermione screamed, running frantically after him down a body-ridden corridor. Though they had attended school together here, the walls around them was unrecognizable._

_Harry's right eye was swollen from the punch he'd taken from Ron, but he'd agreed with his best friend in this case and so it remained unhealed. In his left hand was a bleeding mess that only someone within feet could perceive as a human hand. A black ring still encircled the fourth finger. The trail of blood had formed a musky red line across the hallway._

_On his third pass, the giant oaken door appeared. Harry did not look back as he entered the room, slamming it with a resounding boom that silenced Hermoine's tearful pleas. This was his home for now, until he found the strength to kill the owner of the hand he clutched in his own. He threw his blood drenched cloak to the floor beside him and removed the black ring from the severed limb, throwing it angrily against the far wall. He turned the ring over three times in his hand._

_"Harry?" Professor Dumbledore asked, confused at having been summoned._

_"Yes, Professor, it's me," Harry said, his voice crackling at having been so abused over the past two hours._

_"What's happened?" the wizened wizard inquired, clearly startled by Harry's appearance._

_"We just took back Hogwarts, and we cut off Tom's left hand and got the Resurrection Stone back."_

_"Well that's wonderful, Harry. But you seem hardly in the spirit of such a victory."_

_"W-w... we lost Ginny," Harry whispered, his sorrow overtaking him again as he broke down into furious sobs._

_Dumbledore rushed to comfort him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry could only feel a slight warming sensation, but even if he'd felt Dumbledore's hand it would have done little to alleviate his grief. "I'm so sorry, Harry." The Chosen One breathed deeply, hoping to ward off the worst of his emotions at least until he solidified his plan with Dumbledore._

_"I need you to train me, Albus," Harry explained, his voice scratchy, knuckles white as his enemy's skin. "I've dueled him three times now and every time I've been severely outclassed. Today was the first time I've even hit him. He's on a completely different level, and it's cost too many lives..."_

_Dumbledore looked with pity at the man crying at his feet and strangely remembered a young Severus Snape wracked with grief over the death of Lily Evans, willing to do anything and everything to avenge her murder. "Harry... I do not know what good I can do you, but I will try." Harry's heavy breathing had abruptly stopped now, having regained his composure. "Where is it that we are?" Dumbledore asked, looking over his surroundings._

_"The Room of Requirement, where I held the D.A. meetings. It's also how so many of us escaped after Hogwarts fell. I... I've locked myself in. I can't leave until I'm stronger. I'm no use to anyone like this." Dumbledore decided to say nothing, knowing he could never convince Harry otherwise when he was in this state._

_"What would you have me teach you, Harry?" the former Headmaster asked._

_"Anything you feel could help me end this."_

_"The process will be unpleasant at best," Dumbledore cautioned._

_"Whatever you're cooking up right now, it's got to be better than this." Harry was on his feet now, looking the transparent apparition in the eye. "I'll do anything to never feel like this again."_

And so he had. For six months, Dumbledore made Harry's life hell. His nights were filled with aches from his training during the day, and his new mentor's inability to feel such earthly things as pain or exhaustion made the already difficult work nearly impossible.

But Harry pushed through his own limitations in a matter of weeks, fueled by his loss. When his power continued to grow, Dumbledore augmented their regiment. After six months of this back and forth, Harry was unrecognizable, both in his magical capacity and as a man.

_"What's today's training, Albus?" Harry asked one day, confused at not having seen Dumbledore in his normal spot at the table. Instead, the billowing figure stood calmly next to the door._

_"There is no training today, Harry. I have nothing left to teach." Harry had trouble digesting his Headmaster's words._

_"But Professor... really? Nothing?"_

_"No. We have exhausted all of the magical knowledge of dueling, transfiguration, and charms that I believe useful enough to help you defeat Tom in these past six months. The torrid pace you were able to learn at helped greatly. There is one final lesson, Harry, and this is the most important one I will ever teach you." Harry shook the doubts from his mind and focused on Dumbledore's words._

_"You must return to the world now, finish what you started, and you can no longer house the delusions of inadequacy that you so expertly carry. This world needs you more than anything, Harry, and they need you to lead them, lead this war, with confidence."_

_Yes, he knew he'd have to face them again. He was gone in only two hours after Ginny had died and his only communication to the two people he felt closest with had been their patronuses. Brief, emotionless words carried by magically conjured apparitions, that's what he'd reduced their friendship to._

_"I understand, sir. Thank you for everything." The Headmaster held up a hand and shook his head dismissively._

_"Harry it is I that should be thanking you. For years after Arianna's death I sealed myself from the world and fell into a depression, while you have channeled your feelings of grief and used them to help yourself grow stronger in spite of it. There is nothing more difficult or more rewarding than that."_

_Harry could only nod, Dumbledore's words falling on deaf ears as his thoughts had already spring-boarded him to somewhere far away. "Thank you, sir," Harry said, turning the ring once in his hand as his Headmaster disappeared._

_The man stood alone in the cavernous space where he had honed his magical abilities for countless hours. He glanced at the ring in his hand._

I...I could bring her back,_ a part of him whispered._ She could live again, we could spend our lives together here. _Once, he'd turned the ring, thinking of her flowery hair. Twice, Dumbledore was wrong. This was what was best for him, what Harry truly wanted._

"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death appeared at once before him.

"Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her." *

_The words of the Tale of the Three Brothers stung Harry_. Just one more turn, _a part of him insisted, _and we can see her again. We can be happy again.

_But could he do that to her? She was gone, and she deserved her restful paradise, not a world filled with violence and hatred. The clang of the ring hitting the concrete floor resounded with a cruel finality, and Harry broke down for the first time since the night of her death and wept._

The memories hurt, but he'd resigned himself to the pain long ago. Tearing himself away from the empty seventh-floor corridor, Harry set off for the Gryffindor common room, pushing the potent memories of the battles waged within the walls away from his already brittle mind. He hadn't thought he'd react that way to seeing the Room of Requirement again, especially given that he'd seen Ginny alive, albeit in the hospital wing, not twenty minutes ago. Maybe it was because he'd just seen Ginny that recalling her death had affected him so much.

He knew this was just the beginning. Nearly even person he'd be seeing... re-meeting over the next few years had all died, some in front of his own eyes. He couldn't lose it when he saw Remus again just because the arc of crimson from the silver knife wound that killed him was emblazoned into his mind . He couldn't cry over Hermoine's slow mental deterioration from a curse she'd suffered in battle. His future had not happened in this timeline, and nothing from this world was tying him to it now that Dumbledore had returned.

For the first time, Harry felt completely in control of his destiny. It felt like he was about to take off on his broom, knowing without a doubt that he could fly but still having to take the leap. The sole responsibility of this timeline fell to him. A feeling of loneliness washed over him, dwarfing even his previous isolation in the future. Who could ever understand this burden?

"Password," the Fat Lady said, snooty as always.

"Crap," Harry muttered, not having been back to his dormitory since the fight that day.

"No password, no entrance," the portrait said with plenty of grandeur.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," Harry said grumpily as he sat to the left of the fat woman whom he was moments away from tearing right out of her frame. He'd just have to wait for someone to come along. He wanted nothing to do with the feast going on in the Great Hall, even if Dumbledore would be practically singing his praises. For the time being, he was content to let his thoughts wander freely about what he needed to do in the days before they left school. He was content to wait.

_Never confuse immobility with inaction_, he thought with a smirk as he saw Percy Weasley ascending the moving staircase. "Can I have a word, Percy?"

ooooOooooO0OooooOoooo

* quoted directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter Twenty-One, pg. 408-409

A/N: Thanks so much to all of you that have taken the time to review! Please keep them coming! The next chapter should be up by early next week.


	4. Chapter 4

On the final day of term, eight Gryffindor students awoke to find anonymous notes next to their beds. Each one was identical:

_Common room, tonight, 1:45 A.M._

Harry had been sure to leave one for himself. Hermione would have spent the day questioning him, consuming time he'd much rather spend with them lounging out on the small knoll overlooking the lake. He could barely contain his laughter when he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, Neville, and a very confused Colin Creevey found themselves settled around the same area of the Gryffindor table for breakfast.

"But who could have sent them?" Hermione asked with her brow furrowed in concentration. Harry had to hide his grin.

"Anyone from our house could have sent them. We need to figure out why someone _would_ send them, why they'd want to gather us all together," said Harry, putting on his innocent face.

"Should we show them to Dumbledore?" asked Ron with a mouthful of food. Some things never changed.

Hermione looked pleased that Ron wanted to speak to the teachers for a change, but Harry just shrugged his shoulders. "Actually, my bet is on the two of you," he said, pointing his fork accusatorially at Fred and George.

"Us?" the twins said in unison.

Neville, though still soft-spoken and a little uncomfortable associating with the trio, chuckled. "It does make sense for the two of you, a big end-of-the-year prank," the shy Gryffindor pointed out.

Fred and George looked offended, mockingly so, of course. "To think we're so predictable..."

"The very idea of it!" exclaimed George, flapping his jaw comedically.

"We'll just have to find out then, won't we?" asked Ginny with a grin on her face. "But I swear if you two try and prank me after the year I've had, Mum will have you de-gnoming the garden all summer." Fred and George swallowed hard together as the group burst out into laughter.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOooooo

One o'clock that night saw the Gryffindor common room almost entirely deserted. Hogwarts' younger students were packing for their inevitable return home while others, namely the sixth and seventh years, had managed to smuggle firewhiskey into the dorms and were celebrating their graduation from the wizarding institution.

This left Harry's initial seven confidants, plus himself, sitting around the fire waiting for something to happen. Hermoine's bushy hair was buried in a book while the twins were playing Ron in a chess match. Harry sat on the couch, comfortably chatting with Ginny and Neville, and Colin had kept to himself and found a small sofa chair near one of the corners. As the enchanted clock on the wall's minute hand landed on the nine, Harry stood up, drawing the attention of the room to himself.

"Well I think we should get started," he said, smiling deviously at the seven surprised Gryffindors.

"Shoulda known," said Fred and George together as they made their way closer to the fire. "And you were all ready to blame us," Fred continued.

"I just _suggested _it could have been you," Harry smirked. "I didn't want to field questions about this all day," he explained, sending a friendly but incriminating glance at Hermione, who reddened slightly. "I know it's late, I just ask that you hear me out."

Harry took a second to examine the young wizards assembled in front of him, ghosts of the warriors he'd fought side by side in his future: Fred and George were grinning from ear to ear, always happy to be along for the ride, whatever that ride may be; Neville was wringing his hands, made nervous by the very thought of the trio and their crazy schemes; Collin's face was like a beacon of light, nearly trembling with joy to be associated with anything having to do with Harry; Ginny, however, was staring at the floor. Harry thought she looked almost as nervous as Neville. Maybe she thought he was going to talk about her. Ron and Hermione, now seated next to each other, were shooting one another quizzical glances, wondering if either had known about Harry's plan before this. He flicked his wand to soundproof their conversation and began.

"Hogwarts has been attacked for two years in a row, and I've found myself the middle of it both times. You may think it was heroic, but it wasn't. There were two things that kept me alive. The first and least important was dumb luck. It was coincidence that I was able to beat Voldemort to the Philosopher's Stone last year, and it was pure chance that I somehow managed to kill a creature that most grown wizards would, at the very least, have problems with this year.

"The other reason, and by far the most important, was friendship. My friends got me to the stone and helped me figure out the secrets of the chamber, not to mention that they kept me sane during the year when half the school thought I was a Dark Lord in training. I gathered you here because I think of you all as my friends, and we need each other now more than ever." Harry smiled warmly at Ron and Hermione who returned the look, their curiosity quickly abating into feelings of allegiance towards their raven-haired companion.

"This is going to be hard to hear... but I know there is a war on the horizon, and we've had two defense professors that couldn't fight their way out of a plastic bag. I think we should start a club, a study group of sorts." At the words 'study group,' Hermoine looked like Christmas had come early and Ron appeared as if he'd just been told Santa Claus wasn't real... or whatever wizard equivalent of Santa there was.

"We're being taught nothing about really defending ourselves here, so I thought over the summer I could pick up a few books and bring in some ideas for lessons or useful spells we could all learn. I figured if all of us did that, we'd have enough to occupy our time maybe once a week during next year. You're all free to bow out, but I think it would be a great chance to get stronger, to be able to protect our school and the people around us." Harry couldn't help looking protectively at Ginny as he finished.

"Well I think it's a wonderful idea," Hermione said, breaking the silence. Harry was thankful for her vote of confidence.

"Yeah, count me in," Neville said softly. "I just..."

Harry looked scrupulously at his shy friend, the boy who had become one of the most feared Allies of the Light during the second war. "What is it, Neville?"

"Are you sure you want me? I'm not very good at magic."

Harry laughed. "Well, I don't think that, but if you do, then that's all the more reason to join!" Neville seemed to take the point and nodded, but he realized the implied compliment moments later. Harry didn't think he was terrible at magic?

"I'm in," Ginny said fiercely. "I never wanna feel as helpless as I did this year. I wanna learn to fight it." Harry beamed graciously at her, noticing her cheeks flush slightly in the fire light.

"Me too, I guess," Ron added, though there was still some doubt in his voice.

"Same from us," said Fred and George together. "We know some bloody awesome advanced charms and hexes that we can teach you lot."

"Not to mention the extra practice for O.W.L.s next year."

"And I'm sure we'll find a way to repay you," Harry said cheekily, earning a respectful stare from the twins.

"He's getting to know us too well," said George, elbowing his twin in the ribs.

"Right shame, that is," Fred chimed in, sending his brother into a laughing fit.

Though the twin's laughing was the only sound in the room, all eyes had now turned to Colin, the visibly reluctant first year that had yet to answer. His demeanor had changed drastically at Harry's mention of the war. Gone from his face was the cooky smile, replaced by an expression of solemnity and determination that seemed foreign on the young boy.

"I... I have a brother coming here soon. I don't want what happened to you to happen to him," he said, directing his words at Ginny. "And if it does, I wanna be able to help him. I'm in too." Nothing could have wiped the grin off of Harry's face at that moment.

The relief in Harry's voice was palpable as he said, "So it's settled then. I have a place in mind where we can hold the training sessions, we'll check it out at the beginning of next year. I'll make sure to clear it with Dumbledore and McGonagall. Thanks, to all of you." The group nodded as they disbanded. Colin and Neville were the first to ascend the boy's stairs, followed by Fred and George. Ginny made for the girl's staircase, but Harry asked her to stay. Delighted, she returned, making the previous trio a quartet.

"Sorry I didn't tell you guys. It was easier this way." Ron and Hermione brushed off the apology as they begged Harry for more information.

"It's exactly what I said it was, a study group mostly for defense and dueling. I don't like it, but I feel like knowing this may save our lives." He wasn't too far from the truth in some cases. "I want to involve the other houses, including Slytherin."

Ron looked like he'd been slapped. "What?"

"They're not all bad, mate. I know they have a certain type of character to them, but not every student from Slytherin is putting a Dark Mark on their arm. Voldemort wouldn't take that many anyway," Harry explained, noticing that Ron was still reacting poorly to Tom's alias. "That's something else, get used to hearing me say Voldemort." Ron flinched again. "For Merlin's sake, Ron, it's a word, a title like Mudblood or Blood Traitor or Death Eater! The only power they have is the power we give them, and I'm not gonna be afraid of a bloody anagram Tom Riddle made up while he was a student!" Harry finished vehemently.

Ron and Hermione were shocked, but somehow Ginny wasn't. She'd sensed and observed the subtle changes in Harry over the few days following the incident in the Chamber of Secrets. He'd become more determined and seemed incredibly fixated on something, but she had no idea what. Here he was saying Voldemort's name like it was nothing and talking about inviting Slytherins into their study group. Something drastic had taken place within him, and although Ginny had wracked her brain over the past couple of days, she had no idea what it was.

Ron grumbled something about not being that afraid of the word while Hermoine tried to move the conversation forward. "Slytherins, Harry?"

"Not right away, but eventually. I want the three of you to keep an eye out for any of the younger ones that distance themselves from the pack, especially from Malfoy and the goon lackeys he keeps around. Be discreet though, the last thing we need is for Snape to think we're spying on his precious students." Ron snorted a laugh while Hermione seemed disappointed in the suggestion for espionage.

"Do the same with the other houses. Ginny, can you and Colin be on lookout for any people in your form? Most of us won't get the chance to interact much with the second and first years." Ginny nodded, feeling a twinge of pride that Harry was addressing her like one of them.

"Any other requests?" Hermione asked with friendly annoyance.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking directly back at the three of them. "Promise me you'll all write this summer."

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

The ride home on the Hogwarts Express was peaceful. If nothing else, the temporary respite gave Harry time to think over his plans for the summer. The current Dumbledore would likely be very displeased if he knew the extent of Harry's schemes, but his Headmaster's disapproval would not be enough to stop the determined wizard.

"Well, goodbye, Harry!" squealed a tearful Hermione as she embraced him. "We'll be sure to write," she said emphatically while Ron snorted.

"Long as there's no insane house-elf blocking your mail," his red-haired best friend added with a very Weasley grin. Harry chuckled at the distant, and yet recent memory of Dobby stopping his mail, effectively making the summer before his second year one of the absolute worst as he hugged his best friends, happier than ever at just seeing them alive.

Harry took a quick overview of the platform and noticed an excitable Colin Creevey pointing him out to his parents and a younger boy, his brother, Dennis. He shifted his gaze to Neville, who was shirking under the sheer presence of his grandmother. The woman, clad in an unusual hat with a stuffed vulture perched atop it, was scowling in disappointment. It seemed Neville had yet again failed to live up to her astronomical expectations. It was a shame the woman was so wracked with grief that she took it out on her grandson by being that hard on him. Neville might have come out of his shell earlier had he felt like his own person, not just a consistently underachieving facsimile of his father.

Harry thought about Neville's predicament during the uncomfortable car-ride home, missing his ability to do magic already. He didn't complain in fear of being strapped to the roof or thrown in the trunk, but both were sounding ever more desirable as he continued to suffocate next to Dudley's increased weight.

Seeing his "family" again held no significance for him; his ties to those people, if they could even be called that, had been severed long ago. Lugging his trunk into the house, Harry remembered a very suppressed memory of that summer. Dashing up the stairs, he scribbled on a piece of parchment...

_Ron,_

_Please, for the love of Merlin, don't try to call me on the telephone. If my Uncle answered, I think he'd never let me out of my room. Hope you have a great summer!_

_Harry_

He handed the note to Hedwig, who hooted happily at the chance to stretch her wings. "You have no idea how much I've missed tying notes to your leg, girl," Harry said softly, scratching the milk-colored feathers on the back of her neck and giving her an owl treat for the trip. "Will you take this to Ron at the Burrow? Have a safe journey." Harry opened the window as he watched his snowy owl disappear into the horizon.

_Things, finally, are looking up_, he thought to himself as he laid back on his bed, closing his eyes and dreaming of a day where he'd be free from Privet Drive once again, free from his destiny. Free to live.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Waiting until his thirteenth birthday was not nearly as torturous for Harry this time as it had been all those years ago. Having to silently endure his Uncle's slobbery insults and his cousin's less than affectionate physicality had still left him feeling angry and impulsive, feelings he had to actively combat.

Making good use of his invisibility cloak, Harry stayed mostly out of sight during the almost two months before he would turn thirteen. He had taken to running each morning at a local park down the street, though without any supplemental potions or a substantial diet, his physical development from these morning excursions was minimal at best. They did, however, provide him with a useful distraction from his dull months at Privet Drive, something regimented and scheduled that didn't involve him pulling weeds or cooking breakfast.

Another bright spot to Harry's summer was Dobby. Since the elf was under orders to keep quiet and out-of-sight from his family, he and Harry had spent extended amounts of time with each other. Dobby was happy to help Harry with the inside chores on days when the Dursley's were out, giving him more time to study, read, and train. The elf's youthful exuberance lifted Harry's spirits, and though his room remained spotless all summer, Dobby could do little more for him than that.

July 31st passed without commotion as it always did around his relatives' home. Harry often felt that the Dursleys had purposely made the day as dull and mundane as possible so as to drive home the point that Harry did not matter to them. Self-conflicting, he thought.

His presents came from his friends by owl late in the evening. Harry had made sure to be awake to open them, and especially to give Errol, the aging Weasley family owl, a much-needed rest. The two owls carrying the unconscious Errol onto his bed nearly sent him into hysterical laughter, but remembering the hour, he held his tongue.

The pocket sneakoscope would have certainly been better suited to Ron, as he was the one carrying around a murdering unregistered animagus as a pet, but Harry happily accepted the trinket. Hermione's broom servicing kit had been one of the best gifts he'd even been given. He brushed his hand nostalgically over the case, wiping away the dust only his older eyes could see. "Wish I'd been able to use this more," Harry said wistfully, placing the treasured gift gingerly to his side.

He left Hagrid's gift wrapped, not caring to deal with the nuisance or noise that a biting book could cause, but appreciating the sentiment nonetheless. He turned to the Hogwarts letter and let the Hogsmede permission slip fall flutteringly into his hands. "No Hogsmede for me this year," he said, tearing the paper in half.

Errol, however, was hooting incessantly at Harry. He looked down curiously at the owl and noticed there was another small envelope tied to its leg. He hadn't looked because it shouldn't have been there. He opened it.

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! I only overheard Ron talking about it with mum a few days ago, so I didn't really have time to put together a gift (plus, I don't think poor Errol could have taken much more than this small note!). I hope you can join us in Diagon Alley before school (I'll need you to make sure no one slips anything into my cauldron this year), so rain check on your present until then._

_I hope your summer has been well. Egypt is incredible! The amount of knowledge these ancient wizards had is really astonishing. Did you know that some curses and charms from over 3000 years ago are still almost completely resistant even to the best curse breakers? Bill really wants to crack a few of them to earn a name for himself._

_Thanks for having that talk with Percy at the end of last year. I don't know exactly what you said to him, but he seems to have taken it to heart. He hasn't completely stopped being a prat yet, but we can see he's at least trying. Mum and Dad have both felt really relieved._

_I asked George and Fred to lend me their second, third, and even fourth year defense books. I feel like Hermoine with how much I've read! Have you planned any lessons yet?_

_Have a great summer and see you soon!_

_Ginny_

She'd written to him. It would have been that simple to have been her friend, and he'd been too stupid to realize it the first time. He would save this forever. This was her first letter to him.

Harry Potter fell back on his bed and looked over at the four pieces of parchment now laying open on his bedside table. And this... this was the first birthday he'd ever been happy on. He remembered now, the feelings of belonging and contentment that he'd experienced despite his horrific situation all those years ago, and somehow now as well. The same moment, the same feelings, and yet the reasons and implications could not have been more different.

Harry drifted off to sleep knowing that tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, his fat Aunt Marge was coming to dinner. Tomorrow, Harry would see his Godfather again.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Vernon read Harry the riot act early that morning, telling him that if he wasn't on his best behavior, he would be out the door that night. No matter what Harry did though, Vernon was correct.

Aunt Marge was somehow larger than Harry had envisioned, and even he thought his memories of the woman were exaggerated a bit. She was as rude, abrasive, and obnoxious as he had remembered, but his control was greater than her hateful words could penetrate.

That night at dinner, once again, the whale sitting at the head of the table found pleasure in ridiculing him, a thirteen-year old child, about the death of his parents. "As I expected!" said a now visibly intoxicated Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who-"

_Go time_. Marge was cutoff by Harry standing sharply in his seat, sending his chair flying back into the wall behind him with a shattering force. "You'll not say another foul word against my parents you fat, sorry excuse for a human being." His tone was not angry, but rather incredibly cold. The temperature of the room dropped sharply, as the four Muggles began to see their breath in front of them.

Vernon was staring wildly at Harry, trying to murder the boy with his eyes. "Must...must be something wrong with the heater..." Vernon stammered, temporarily forgetting it was the beginning of August.

Marge, ever the ignoramus, felt little fear at her drastically changed surroundings. "You would dare speak like that to your superior?" she yelled frantically, but Harry held his hand out and silenced her.

"Superior? You certainly have some incredible delusions about yourself, Marge. I wonder how you'll feel if your body was truly as swelled up as your ego?"

She stared at him curiously for a moment, then felt her skin begin to expand, her cheeks and neck begin to fatten. Vernon could only watch in horror as his sister began bouncing off the ceiling like a stray party balloon. He latched onto her ankle, and eventually, as last time, let go in self-preservation, reacting to the pain of being bitten rather badly by Marge's dog. Harry already had his wand drawn and his trunk packed when the raging man reentered the house.

"This is goodbye. Unless it's against my will, I'll never come back here. I wish the best for you all, but I will not protect you."

Harry disappeared into the darkness, concealing himself beneath his father's cloak. Sirius was close, that magical energy blast would have been enough for him to sense and lock on to, Harry was sure of it. He found the park bench that he'd sat on all those years ago when he accidentally called the Knight Bus.

He saw the black dog emerge from the bushes and his heart leapt. It traversed the street between them, the canine's head close to the ground, not wishing to intimidate Harry. The dog saw a drop of water drip from the boy's cheeks. How far had the boy run to be sweating so profusely?

"Hello, Sirius," Harry said with as much control as he could muster. Dogs should look surprised more often, he thought wryly. The face the midnight black dog in front of him was wearing would be priceless later.

_Tears, they were tears_, the dog thought sadly.

"I know about Peter, about everything, but we can't talk here. The Ministry is likely on their way after that last bit of magic I did. I had to do it so you could find me, though. We have to get to the Leaky Cauldron so I can see Cornelius Fudge, The Minister for Magic, he's waiting there for me." He saw Sirius' worried look. "You'll be okay, no one besides Remus and Peter know about your animagus. I know this is a lot to take in... but I-I...I'm so bloody happy to see you. Please trust me."

The dog's gaze pierced Harry's as he bowed his head, letting Harry pet him in a show of trust, though Sirius still didn't quite understand what Harry was doing. "I need to catch the Knight Bus, but first we need to play a game of fetch," he said with a smirk. The dog cocked it head to the side in confusion.

"I haven't had to do this in a long time, but since you can't apparate without a wand and I'm still underage, you need to take my wand away so I can make a portkey without being traced. About fifty meters should do it." Sirius would have run a million for this boy, but unable to say so, he merely opened his mouth to accept. "I shouldn't take too long, just listen for my whistle." He bit down lightly and ran off into the distance.

Harry looked around, making sure none of the Ministry employees had tracked him down yet. He was alone as far as he could tell, but with the threat of disillusionment charms and without his magic, Harry could only hope. He picked up a small rock and tried to remember. _Toregard's Fifth Property of Portkey Creation states that the smaller mass and higher density of an object, the less magical energy required to stabilize its physical state as a portkey. Furthermore, metals, due to their complex chemical state, are more difficult to construct from than those made of simpler substances, e.g. wood, rock, glass. _Hermione would be proud.

Harry saw the stone in his hand glow a dull green and smiled, taking pride in his magical prowess. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled to Sirius. The dog came bounding out of the tree line behind the park, Harry's wand in his mouth. He let the holly stick fall into the boy's hands, wondering if he'd succeeded in the portkey fabrication.

Sirius Black had been in Azkaban for twelve years, he'd learned to survive on instinct alone. After having time to think about and digest what he'd been told while Harry constructed the Portkey, his instincts were screaming. Something didn't sit right with him. This boy, the boy he'd thought was his Godson, was _waiting_ for him. How could he have possibly known he'd be there, that he'd felt Harry's magic pulsate and ran to find him? And to further complicate the situation, he knew the truth about Pettigrew. _No one _knew about that rat, not even Dumbledore, not even the Aurors that had been first on the scene, not even Remus. How could he? Completing this trifecta of puzzling characteristics, the boy was obviously an extremely talented wizard. Portkeys were difficult to create, even more so without a wand. Harry was thirteen if Sirius remembered correctly, and no wizard with only two years of study should have been capable of such a feat.

But what choice did he have? If it was a trap, he was so weary that a part of him was content to simply walk into it. If the universe had given him the willpower and ability to escape Azkaban only to be murdered by a polyjuiced Death Eater or a revenge-filled Godson, who the bloody hell was he to stop it? This was a chance he could not afford to pass up, no matter the risks.

"Sirius," Harry said as he knelt down, catching his attention and offering a reassuring scratch behind his ear. "I don't know how strong that portkey is, so you'll have to use it without your animagus form to be safe. You'll be in an alley a few blocks from the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Wait outside and I'll come to get you when it's safe." Sirius took the boy at his word. "Use this just to be cautious," Harry said, laying his father's invisibility cloak on the animagus' back. The dog seemed to recognize it at once. "And this," Harry said, wrapping a small hand-made pouch around the dog's neck, "has your portkey in it. It will activate on its own. Stay out of sight, I promise I'll explain everything tonight, but I have to make sure we're both safe first, okay?" The dog nodded.

Harry gave him a friendly scratch on the back of the neck. "You'd better get going. See you soon, Padfoot." The dog seemed reluctant to tear himself away from his newly found friend, or Godson. He had James' cloak and addressed him by Padfoot, all certainly good signs. Sensing the boy had a much larger plan, he vowed to do his best to abide by his small part of it. Sirius bounded off again towards the small woods, leaving Harry who had lit the end of his wand and extended it out into the road.

The roaring motor and squealing breaks of the Knight Bus should have woken up the entire neighborhood, but the wizarding community had spent uncountable hours perfecting and implementing spells that would keep them separate and hidden from the Muggle world. Harry had always wondered what might have been possible if the two societies had ever found the common ground to work together. Such a thing would be impossible at a grassroots level, but scientific and magical research could certainly benefit from one another should their greatest minds have the good fortune to meet.

Arriving at the Leaky Cauldron with his worldly possessions in tow, Harry, or Neville, depending on whether or not Stan Shunpike was identifying him, was once again greeted by the portly figure of Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister for Magic.

Guiding him once again into the private parlor for their conversation, Fudge was surprised when Harry stopped dead, his eyes bulging and glazing over. The voice he spoke in was not his own, but rather a harsh, guttural exclamation.

_The Dark Lord will rise again... born of the blood of his greatest foe, he will wreak terror and war on the world of man... four will fight where only three should be, and the purest of blood will prove the foulest in heart... a leader will emerge chosen by the people, and his foresight may save the world of man... The Dark Lord will rise again..._

Fudge couldn't believe what he was hearing. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had made a prophecy to him, the Minister for Magic, about Voldemort. The cogs of fate and destiny began to turn in Cornelius' head. If You-Know-Who really was coming back, maybe he was this 'leader' that this prophecy spoke of. He had been "chosen by the people" after all.

Harry couldn't have been more pleased with Fudge's reaction. He saw the look of hunger and lust for power in his eyes. Harry had spent days memorizing the precise wording to get Fudge to this point, and had to hide his excitement as he "came to."

"Are you all right, my boy?" Fudge asked worriedly, walking quickly to where Harry was now slumped on the floor.

"Yes, I just... I dunno, I don't really remember what happened." Fudge fought back a squeal of excitement. So Harry didn't remember, meaning that if Fudge himself didn't tell Dumbledore, which he had no intention of doing, the old man would never find out.

"Seems you fainted for a moment. Sure you're all right?" the Minister asked as he now helped Harry to his feet and ushered him to a chair not far from the location of his collapse.

"Yes, fine, sir. I'm sorry I seem to be causing so much trouble tonight," Harry said, still wobbling slightly as Fudge lead him to the chair.

Cornelius waved him off. "Nonsense, Harry, no harm done. Now my name is Cornelius Fudge, I am the Minister for Magic."

_And I just played you like a piano_, Harry thought.

ooooOoooo0O0oooOoooo

Room eleven of the Leaky Cauldron was unkempt, as most of the rooms were, but it was pleasantly familiar. Harry was used to living in conditions like this. Even in time spent during the war at Hogwarts, Harry had been forced to bed down in the shattered remains of the pristine dormitories that he knew existed there now.

Glancing around the room, he went to lay his trunk on the bed when he heard a soft thump. His reaction time wasn't fast enough as he felt a sharp blade against his throat, with his left arm painfully hyperextended behind his back. The man's stench was almost overwhelming, and his voice was rough. "Don't do anything stupid, now, Peter."

Harry knew the voice, but had been shocked at hearing it for the first time in thirty years. He looked across the room at the window and saw the reflection of the man standing behind him. "Hello again, Sirius."

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

A/N: Hi readers. Firstly, thanks so much to those of you who have taken time to review. The story has had over 1000 visitors already and well over 2000 hits, so I'd be thrilled to see the number of reviews climb a little more. Seeing those reviews increase helps me feel inspired to write and that the work is being well-received.

Sorry for the slightly longer update time. My grandfather passed away last week, and between planning the music for his funeral service, attending the 5-hour viewing, and being buried under the sheer amount of preparations needed for something like that, I've been in no condition to write or post. Chapter 5 should be up by early next week.

Cliffhangers are fun, eh?

I'm also in the market for a Beta if anyone is interested. Just send me a PM, but please only contact me if you've written something for Harry Potter. Nothing against those of you who are just avid readers of fan fiction, but as someone who's making the transition now, writing it and reading it are very different.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Yes, the conclusion of last chapter's cliffhanger is here. Sorry for the long update time. If I'm being honest, I wasn't happy with the way the chapter was reading and needed a lot more editing time on this one than previous chapters.

I'm still in the market for a Beta, so if you're interested, please PM me.

And lastly, thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to leave me a review, even if it's only a sentence or two. I hope you continue to read and enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it. So without further ado...

ooooOooooO0OooooOoooo

"Don't you dare 'hello' me, Peter!" screamed the scraggly Azkaban escapee, the blade of the knife trembling against Harry's skin and drawing a thin line of blood. "What did you do with my Godson!" Sirius' voice was bordering on deranged.

"Why do you think I'm Pettigrew?" Harry asked, begging his voice to remain calm under the duress of the situation. "I thought you trusted me back in Little Whinging."

"I did... but the more I thought about it, the more I'm certain you have to be Peter. I-...It's the only thing that makes sense." Though Sirius had willed his voice to sound certain, Harry knew the accusation stemmed from a nearly incomprehensible set of events that his godfather could never truly understand. Freshly out of Azkaban, this mentally and physically depleted man must have felt like he was losing his mind. Rather than trusting, he was fighting for himself, taking things into his own hands. Harry could hardly fault the man for something he himself had been guilty of so many times.

He tried to steady his breathing. "I promised you I'd tell you everything tonight, and I plan to. I can't even use magic because of the age restriction, so you're safe either way. Just please let me go, Sirius. Give me a chance to explain-," Harry said before feeling his already awkwardly bent left arm wrenched even harder against his body.

"No chance in hell you bloody rat!" Sirius spat, the words even startling Harry. There was so much hatred and blind rage. The only time Harry could ever recall Sirius acting so cold was in the Shrieking Shack when they'd first met. Remembering where his Godfather had spent the last twelve years, however, he was finding it hard to be judgmental.

"Okay, that's fine. If you were holding Pettigrew, he might transform and run off," he said, hoping his outward calm would level Sirius' irrational thinking out.

It gave him pause, but Sirius' tone retaliated in the same calm as Harry's. "You'd better start explaining. Right now. This blade is dying to taste more of your blood you traitorous BASTARD!" Sirius yelled through his voice's crescendo, reaffirming his grip on the hilt of the rusty hunter's knife pressed further into Harry's throat. _So much for that approach_, Harry thought.

"My name is Harry James Potter. I'm your Godson, I swear it. Ask me something only I could know that Pettigrew wouldn't," Harry spoke as he remained completely still, the gravity of the situation settling into him. He'd only just made it back, just been given the chance to put things right. That effort couldn't end in such an ironic misunderstanding. He realized that, for the first time in well over a decade, he feared death once again.

The escapee said nothing for a moment. "I don't know. If you're my Godson, we wouldn't know much about each other."

Harry considered this for a moment. Partially true, he thought. "Did you ever invite Peter Pettigrew over to your house?"

Sirius seemed startled at the simple question. "Well... no, I didn't. My family was mostly Slytherins... I didn't think parading my posse of Gryffindor friends around the house was the best idea." Harry would have appreciated the humor under less duress.

"The house was placed under a Fidelius Charm, true?" he asked, a grin slowly creeping across his face.

"Yes, it was..." Sirius whispered, amazed this alleged boy knew so much about his life.

"Which means if I tell you where the house is, there's no way I could be Peter Pettigrew, right? You never gave him access?"

"It will also mean you're not my Godson," Sirius snarled, the doglike characteristic of his animagus coming through. "I never gave him the location either."

Harry couldn't help but break out into a grin, which must have looked unnerving to Sirius. He was taking a gigantic chance, but from everything he knew about the functionality of the Fidelius and the newly synthesized state of his own mind, the chance was worth taking. "Right now, I'll just settle for not being the bastard that betrayed my parents. We'll get to proving that I'm your Godson later. Sirius Black lives at 12 Grimmauld Place in London." _Thank Merlin_, Harry thought.

Sirius' eyes opened wider than they'd been in years, stretching and activating facial muscles that had remained unused for over a decade. He immediately removed the knife from the boy's throat and, though still on his guard, stepped back to give him some room to regain his breath.

"So I'm not Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, his hand moving gently to the broken skin on the left side of his neck, coming back with crimson on his fingertips. Felt the previously bound muscles of his arm begin to loosen and relax. "Are you at least convinced of that?"

Sirius scowled, eyes darting around the room. "There's nothing else that made sense... the cloak, recognizing my animagus, the magical ability, knowing that I'm innocent," Sirius muttered, ticking off the observations he'd made about Harry. He continued to pace. "There were only five people on the entire planet that knew I was the Potters' secret keeper. Three of them are dead, one is Peter, one is me. So who the hell are you?... Wait, is... is it you, Moony?"

Harry couldn't help but smile at hearing Sirius refer to Remus by their Marauders nicknames. "No, not Remus either. The moon's close to full tonight, so thank goodness for that."

Sirius was pacing now, still a firm hold on the rusted knife in his right hand. He clearly knew about the Marauders and Remus' Lycanthropy too. What didn't this stranger know about his life? "Then, if... _if _you're my Godson, Harry James Potter," Sirius said, sadness in his voice at the last part of Harry's name, "how in bloody hell do you know all this?"

"It might be best if we sat down, Sirius," Harry said kindly and in grateful relief. "I can't explain what brought me here in a few sentences. It's going to take some time for you to understand everything that's happened. I only ask for your patience," Harry explained, feeling a little bit like Albus Dumbledore. When Sirius had taken his seat, the knife still sitting in his lap with his left hand placed cautiously on the hilt, Harry began.

"I solemnly swear, this story is true," Harry said, another wave of recognition passing over Sirius' face.

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Sirius Black glanced up at the finely crafted clock, embroidered with a silver trim and sporting a finely painted phoenix on the face, the wings acting as minute and hour hands. The larger had traveled from the three to the five, meaning almost ten minutes had passed since his Godson had finished his story, but Sirius' mind had yet to present a viable option for a response. Harry had gotten up six minutes ago to shower, knowing that the escaped prisoner would need some time to process all he'd been told. Time had taken on an entirely new meaning to the Marauder now.

Sirius picked at the accrued mounds of dirt beneath his fingernails, now a sickly yellow color, hoping his brain would simply show him how to react, what to say. Strangely, he wanted to believe the boy, but the entire story could have been fabricated as a cry for help. Who had Harry been living with? What the hell was he doing at the Leaky Cauldron during the summer months when he should have been at home?

"So... let me get this straight," Sirius spoke when Harry appeared with a towel wrapped around his waist and another slung lazily over his shoulder, "you defeated a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor possessed by Voldemort when you were eleven, a Basilisk when you were twelve, conjured a corporeal patronus charm to ward off a hundred dementors and helped me escape from Hogwarts right under the Ministry's nose at thirteen, and won the Triwizard Tournement and survived a duel with Voldemort at fourteen?"

Harry chuckled, knowing how absurd his exploits sounded when taken out of context. "You have to remember the whole story, though. My first year was planned by Dumbledore to test me, he practically herded me to the stone. The basilisk I take a little credit for, but I would have died if Fawkes hadn't brought me the sword. Third year was mostly Hermione's brilliant strategizing, but I know I worked hard to learn the patronus charm from Remus. Fourth year I had a professor actively trying to help me win the Triwizard. I doubt I would have stood a chance otherwise. The only reason I made it out of that duel with Voldemort was because of the brother wands."

"And then..."

"Everything went to shit," Harry finished for him. "The Ministry wouldn't acknowledge that Voldemort had returned, and the idiots in office spent more time trying to censor Hogwarts than fix the real problem. Voldemort gained enough support to overthrow them, and by then, there was almost nothing I could do for the general public," the young wizard recalled helplessly, heavy regret and resignation in his voice.

"Besides survive the Killing Curse again," Sirius said sarcastically, earning him a wry grin from Harry.

"I screwed that up too, though. Albus told me later that I was supposed to think I was going to die. If I had, it would have given everyone else the same sacrificial protection against Voldemort as my mum gave to me. I chose to go after the Hallows and got distracted from the Horcruxes."

"You think if you hadn't the war would have ended at Hogwarts?" Sirius asked. In truth, his real interest was trying to trip Harry up, catch him in a lie so he could figure out what was really going on. Though there was a definite genuineness about this boy, the tale was a few miles too tall to believe.

Harry's shoulders slumped, now concealed beneath his over-sized Muggle pants and slightly torn tank-top shirt, Dudley's old clothes he'd been forced to wear over the summer. He took a seat across from his godfather, a pensive, far-reaching look in his eyes. "Can't say for sure, but I know it would have given us an advantage. The night I decided to go for the Elder Wand... I was so bloody stupid!" Harry exclaimed as he lowered his forehead onto his palms, massaging his eyes that had seen too many deaths as a result of his error.

"I had this idiotic notion that only I could win the war, only I could end it, and that Dumbledore had to have left us the information on the Hallows because he wanted me to survive, that all those years of preparing and mentoring me would culminate in my mastery of death, in my immortality, my means to defeating Voldemort. It took me years to understand that it wasn't the Hallows that kept me alive that night, that Albus had intended my death from the start. Funny enough, I would have survived with or without those damn things."

"You think Albus Dumbledore wants to... kill you?" Sirius asked, horrified at the accusations his godson was levying against one of the most powerful and influential light wizards of their time.

Harry couldn't contain himself as he laughed heartily at the thought. "Merlin, no! Albus did what he had to in order to kill Voldemort for good, and part of that involved my death, just like the prophecy I told you about said."

Sirius remembered the words "_neither can live while the other survives_." Pieces were certainly beginning to fit together. James and Lily had spoken many times in hushed tones that only his canine-like hearing could pick up about a prophecy involving Voldemort and their son. This must have been it.

"But, you did survive, didn't you? How?"

"Same way as the first time, my mum..." Harry almost whispered. "When Voldemort resurrected himself during the Triwizard Tournament, he used my blood as part of the ritual, which strengthened the connection between us. As long as my blood, and along with it, my mum's, coursed through him, he couldn't kill me because of the protection."

Sirius couldn't keep up with all Harry was explaining, and the mention of Lily had pushed him over the edge. "That's enough!" he yelled standing quickly and knocking back the chair he was sitting in to the floor. "This is bloody ridiculous. Tell me who you really are or I'm leaving!"

Harry did not move, his face remaining passive. "I'm sorry, Sirius, but I can't let you leave. If you wound up back in Azkaban because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Please, keep asking me questions. I'll be nothing but honest with you."

"But it's impossible!" Sirius yelled.

"What part?" Harry asked innocently.

Sirius blinked. "What?"

"What part of my story was impossible?" Harry inquired just as sweetly, knowing he'd caught Sirius in a hyperbole.

His godfather growled, much like the dog he became as an animagus. "None of it, I guess. I didn't mean impossible... improbable, that's the word."

"Right, and because I've had such a normal life up until this point, I'm sure anything improbable happening to me in the future would be... well, _improbable_." Harry couldn't help but snort at the repeated use of the word.

Sirius' anger and confusion began to recede. "You... you certainly don't talk like a teenager."

Harry nodded. "And it explains everything you saw about me. You know it does, but because I don't look like I'm in my fifties, you'll never truly believe it. Well... maybe one day you will, but certainly not today."

His godfather didn't know what to say, and the silence gave him more time to consider what he'd seen of Harry so far. "So you knew where I'd be..."

"Because I'd seen you there before," Harry finished for him, smiling at the memory of the angry thirteen year old who had been startled by the menacing black dog.

"But what about that prophecy you made to Fudge? You didn't mention that in your story." Sirius questioned.

Harry broke out into a wide grin. "Followed me in there too, did you? Always a Marauder." Now it was Sirius' turn to smile, though he had the decency to mix in a little embarrassment at having revealed his eavesdropping.

"That prophecy was the last brilliant plan of Albus Dumbledore and myself." Sirius cocked his head to the side in a physical display of his confusion. Harry's face hardened as he explained. "Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister for Magic, will do anything to keep his power. He is not evil, nor is he altogether excessively intelligent, but he is a man that thirsts for power like a man lost in a desert thirsts for water. If he thinks he's the one that can stop Voldemort, that he's destined to, the Ministry will be more prepared when he returns, no matter what the political influences like Lucius Malfoy have to say about it."

Sirius' face was etched in shock. "You would let him come back!"

"Let him? I have to ensure it," Harry explained, crossing his legs and reclining back onto the creaking mattress. "Although I've already killed him in my world, in this time, I'm still bound by the terms of the prophecy and I'm still a Horcrux," he said while pointing up to his lightning scar.

Realization dawned on Sirius' face. "You're planning to let him kill you when he comes back, then kill him when he's disposed of the Horcrux in you... but if anything goes wrong, you've already got a contingency plan in effect."

Harry nodded solemnly. "If everything goes well, I'll kill him in the graveyard that night after I win the Triwizard, though I'll need to get at Nagini somehow. Voldemort is a ferociously difficult opponent to face, and I'm not sure only two years of training in this body will do it. Even if they wouldn't technically be working together, at least Hogwarts won't have the Ministry as a liability this time around if I fail."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" his Godfather asked incredulously.

Harry grinned so much that his eyelids almost closed. "No, you're Sirius, I'm Harry."

Sirius stared blankly at his godson, his right eye twitching, before roaring in a hearty laugh from his gut he never thought he'd have just cause to use again. "James and I used to do that while we were at school together! Your mum wouldn't speak to either of us for a week when we said it a few too many times at dinner one night!"

Harry was now laughing too as he sat on his bed, contemplating his position. _At least he's starting to believe me now_, he thought, _he called Lily 'your mum'._

"So where should I stay? They'll check Grimmauld eventually, and forgive me, but I'm not exactly thrilled with the prospect of returning to that hellhole."

"I'm thinking of going into Muggle London this week to rent a flat for you," he replied, hoping to keep Sirius as far away from that godforsaken house as possible. "We'll put basic enchantments on it and I'll buy you a hefty supply of Polyjuice. You'll still have to stay low while I'm at school, but that should be more than enough to keep you out of the Ministry's sight. I'm planning to have Peter in custody, or at the very least, caught, by mid-September anyway. By that time you'll be able to return to Grimmauld if you want." Harry noticed Sirius' despondent look, likely upset he'd have to be apart from Harry for an entire school year. "Look on the bright side, at least you'll spend this year in a decent flat instead of eating maggots and bugs while trying to track down Ron Weasley. I sometimes wonder if you would have ever tried to escape if you hadn't seen that paper..."

And at once, that had done it. Sirius had stopped dead where he was, shooting a look of complete disbelief at Harry. "W-w...what did you just say?"

"What?" Harry asked blankly.

"You know what inspired me to escape. You know why I got out." Sirius was visibly shaken at the revelation. He hadn't spoken to a single person since he'd escaped, and the boy couldn't perform Legillimency because of the underage restriction. There was only one way he could have known.

Harry slapped his forehead with his right hand. "That would have made all this a lot easier. Yeah, you saw Ron's picture in the Daily Prophet with his family because they won the drawing, and his rat, he calls him Scabbers, on his shoulder. You noticed the missing toe and knew it must have been Pettigrew, and when the article said Ron was at Hogwarts, you knew you had to get there, that it was the one chance you had to exonerate yourself."

Sirius' eyes were tearing up. "Merlin... it really is you, Harry. Your throat... I'm so sorry," he said, unconsciously reaching up to touch his own throat, mirroring where Harry's injury would be.

Harry waved his concerns off and made no attempt to hide the face-stretching grin that came across him, his own eyes threatening to tear as well. "You believe me?"

"I don't have much choice after that revelation," Sirius said, his words certain. "Yes, Harry, I do. I want to believe all you've told me is true. You can count me in to help in any way I can."

"That means a lot to me, Sirius," Harry choked out softly, his voice on the verge of breaking. "How about we get some rest? We can speak more in the morning."

Sirius nodded as he wandered towards a small rug on the floor.

Harry couldn't help but snort at his godfather's unspoken assumption. "Sirius, you've spent every night for the past twelve years sleeping on a floor. You get a bed tonight, no objections."

"I couldn't Harry, really I'll be fine," Sirius replied courteously, though now openly ogling the bed as if it were a massive pile of galleons.

Harry responded with a glare that would have made his late mother-in-law proud, causing Sirius to see the futility in the argument. "You must be hungry, do you want something before we sleep," Harry said offhandedly as he laid a small blanket he'd brought from the Dursleys on top of the oval rug on the floor.

Sirius nodded. "I'm unfortunately well-adjusted to the feeling, but yes. Do you have anything?" he asked hopefully but without entitlement.

Harry smiled, "I've got much better than anything, I've got Dobby."

"You've got what!"

ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo

Suffice it to say, Sirius was thrilled to meet someone with the culinary prowess of Dobby. He was further happy to discover that the name, in fact, was not a slang term for a particularly nasty magical STD as he had first believed. After Sirius' many dealings with Kreacher, encountering a cheery house-elf that didn't speak in a raspy drawl must have been refreshing. Compounding his feelings, Dobby's food was like a fine cuisine compared to the piles of slop he'd been forced to survive on as a prisoner of Azkaban.

Sirius and Harry had gone to sleep after they'd both eaten their fill, but they'd laid there for what seemed like hours, Harry continuing to field his godfather's myriad questions about his future.

"Snivellus is teaching Potions?"

Harry nodded, his mouth full of mashed potatoes and gravy.

"Bet he's awful," Sirius growled.

"As a teacher? No. As a role model of house unity and equality, most definitely. He played a huge role in the war though. Without him, I would have never know how to get rid of my unwelcome guest," Harry said, once again pointing to his scar.

"How about ol' Tabby Cat McGonagal. She still doing Transfiguration?"

They continued this way until Sirius' eyebrows began to visibly droop every time Harry's answer took more than ten seconds. At his godson's insistence, Sirius finally climbed into bed, the mattress, pillow, and covers he'd taken for granted for so many years feeling now like an unfamiliar luxury.

The next morning when they both awoke, Harry made sure that Sirius wore the invisibility cloak constantly in case someone came to interrupt them. No one had the last time, but now that Fudge had heard Harry's 'prophecy,' he may have been... inspired to put him under watch.

"I'm going into Diagon Alley and Muggle London today, I probably won't be back until very late. Will you be alright here with Dobby?" Harry asked as he put a forkful of the little elf's well-prepared eggs benedict with croissants and orange juice into his mouth.

Sirius nodded, not wanting to speak as his mouth was full with the delicious meal. _Twelve years in Azkaban and he's still got better table manners than Ron_, Harry thought. His thoughts now turning to his friends, he took out three spare pieces of parchment and wrote Hermione and then the Weasleys, both Ginny and Ron, letting them know he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron and that he would be able to join them before school to pick up their books. He signed Ginny's letter with 'love' out of sheer habit, and without his wand, had to rewrite the entire correspondence a second time.

Bidding a quick farewell to Sirius, Harry set off into the familiar line of stores, the first part of the magical world he'd ever seen after learning he was a wizard. The colorful masonry and vibrant shades of paint gave the feeling of being at a Muggle carnival, while the buildings themselves were a much more modest architecture. They were all overshadowed, however, by Harry's first destination, a gleaming white building that Muggles would mistake for the Parthenon if this part of the world was visible to them.

The glistening Gringotts building stood proudly in front of Harry as memories of the bank under siege by legions of Death Eaters came rushing to his mind. Every galleon was melted down under Voldemort's orders, effectively annihilating Britain's wizarding economy and securing one of his Horcruxes. It had been a pivotal loss in the war. But here, on this remarkably new day, it endured.

Entering through the colossal front doors, Harry soundlessly made his way over to a goblin he'd been acquainted with. "Erm... Griphook?" Harry said under his breath, momentarily startling the goblin before he regained his senses.

"Greetings, Mr. Potter," the goblin said without moving his attention from his scribbling quill, though one of his eyebrows was a few inches higher than before Harry had spoken to him.

"As a client of Gringotts, I'd like to request a private account consultation and advisory meeting concerning my funds. If you'd agree, Griphook, I'd like to formally ask you to act as my financial advisor."

The goblin seemed more taken aback at Harry's formality and execution of goblin etiquette and bank jargon than his very appetizing and profitable offer, but once again collected himself in a most Goblin-like regality and snobbishness. He promptly ushered Harry into a small office with a bow which Harry graciously returned.

Months before Gringotts fell, Ron, Hermoine, Ginny, Neville, and George had captured and interrogated an inner circle Death Eater to learn of Voldemort's future plans. They'd sent Ron in as a substitute under constant Polyjuice so Voldemort would be none the wiser. Hermione, through her nearly inconsolable worry, had spent hours in the months leading up to the confrontation drilling Harry on appropriate goblin manners and expressions so their trust could be earned. After Harry convinced the goblins of the accuracy of their findings, he and the rest of the Order were given control of the building behind the scenes, spending months strengthening and fortifying the defenses. Despite Harry's most desperate pleas, the goblins refused him access to Bellatrix Lestrange's vault, even when they knew the building to be a lost cause. Their pride had cost him dearly.

When Voldemort made his attack, he met with a nearly impenetrable structure of wards, as well as a conspicuously absent Death Eater. Although many had eventually died in the fight, the Allies of the Light held the building for over four months. Voldemort lost countless Death Eaters and allied dark monsters in the process, a large reason for the eventual recapture of Hogwarts years later. It was not until the Dark Lord himself joined the fray over the course of countless concentrated attacks that the defenses fell.

"Mr. Potter, you remember me by name having only once met me and then furthermore ask me to be your advisor. You are a very strange wizard," Griphook said with a murky mix of suspicion and curiosity as he sat in his beautifully upholstered office chair.

"So I've been told many times, Advisor," said Harry honestly, making sure to address Griphook by his new formal title while he waited for the Goblin to sit before he did.

"And you also seem well versed in goblin etiquette."

"The economy is an integral component in our society and one that requires the utmost supervision and care. I believed it would behoove me to learn the etiquette of the culture handling my assets, and so I have."

"You call us a culture? Not a race, or a creature?" asked a surprised Griphook.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Advisor. I do not view the Goblin culture with the illusion of superiority the wizarding world so often does."

"You are a very strange wizard, Mr. Potter." Though Griphook's words were the same, his tone gave away a slightly more impressed feeling.

Harry remained poised. "I do not wish to intrude upon your time should you be otherwise engaged, but I wonder if you would answer a few questions about my accounts for me."

Griphook looked carefully at the young wizard sitting in front of him. "I have time now, most honored Client. What is it you wish to know?"


End file.
